Highway of Expectations
by isthisjustfantasy
Summary: Verity stops at a 24 hour diner late one night on her way to Denver. Inexplicably, three WWE superstars walk in after her, setting off an unexpected chain of events. Will she be able to stay cool and in control? And who will come along to make her reassess everything she thought she wanted? [Johnny CurtisxOC] [Dean AmbrosexOC]
1. An unexpected encounter

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any WWE characters, shows, anything basically, borrowed for this story are property of WWE.**

* * *

I had been behind the wheel since about 7pm, driving west from Kansas City to Denver, watching the sun get lower and lower at the end of a very long highway. By about midnight I was starting to feel the sandman creeping up on me, so I pulled in at the next service station I saw to fill up on gas, both for me and the car.

The service station, to my delight, was also a 24/7 diner. When I walked in, it was deserted but for one old man at the back, who was asleep in a booth. I went to the till and asked the operator, who looked pretty sleepy himself, for a coffee and a grilled cheese sandwich. Running on that combination of caffeine and saturated fats, I might make it to Denver by 3am. The guy at the counter nodded, took my cash and turned around to the coffee maker.

In the time it had taken me to order, a few other customers had walked into the diner, so I stood aside from the register to wait for my order. I'm not going to lie, my pulse jumped up a few thousand beats per minute when I realised who had walked in. To this middle-of-nowhere diner. By chance. At midnight. While I was there. Ordering a grilled cheese.

Standing there like a bronze god at least six foot three with floppy brown hair, blue eyes and biceps as big as my thigh – a man I recognised as Fandango, from the WWE, or Johnny Curtis in another incarnation. Accompanying him was the even taller Wade Barrett (must have left his IC title in the car, I thought) and tucked away behind him I realised that Heath Slater was also travelling with them.

They were all, as you'd expect, very well dressed in that understated 'I kind of look good in everything because, I mean, look at my pecs' kind of way. Suddenly I felt a little inadequate in what I called my 'driving outfit': black three-quarter length yoga pants and a Reebok t-shirt. You've gotta be comfy. The man known as Fandango on television looked far from his character, wearing a thin red hoodie, zipped up because there appeared to be nothing under it, and straight-leg denim jeans. Barrett had on some black Adidas pants and a t-shirt of some description – I think I forgot to look to see how Slater was dressed because, ladies, let's be honest, when Fandango's in the room, it's hard for your eyes to look anywhere else.

Even as I was taking all this in, I had my body trained to look completely non-chalant, like any other diner patron waiting for their order. Internally, of course, I was marking the fuck out. In a more crowded establishment I might have let the opportunity slip as a few other, bolder wrestling fans claimed their attention, but in this near-deserted diner? I was going to interact, meet and hopefully shake the hands of some very talented WWE superstars! It was time for me to be bold.

I'm not sure if the idea came to me before, during or after I started doing it. Casually, glancing at the floor and then to the menu on the wall and out the window, I began to softly hum ChaChaLaLa.

"Daaa da, da da da da, da da daaa da…"

Barrett noticed straight away, letting out a little chuckle. Slater was ordering, and Curtis was looking up at the menu. Suddenly his ears pricked up and he whipped his head in my direction. His eyes caught mine (does he always stare this intensely, I wondered) and he raised the corner of his mouth into a lop-sided little smile.

"Next, sir?" the tired diner staff asked. Damn him. We were having a moment, I was pretty sure. Curtis gave a little wink before turning to face the counter and place his order. To my complete shame, parts of me began to feel quite tingly all of a sudden and I'm sure my face flushed briefly. Gosh he had really blue eyes. Heath Slater took his place to the side of the register nearer to me.

"Hi, Heath" I said, shaking off the devastating effects of a single wink of Johnny motherfucking Curtis. "I'm a really big fan."

"Well, thank you very much," he replied in his West Virginia drawl. He extended his hand and I shook it.

"It's so great to randomly run into you in this middle-of-freaking-nowhere diner."

Heath laughed at that and said, "Yeah, what are the odds, hey?"

"For me, about a billion-zillion to one. I guess you guys probably get recognised most places you go."

"Hah, well we're no John Cenas that's for sure but when it does happen we're always grateful," he replied, "-and flattered! Sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

To be honest, I was the one who was flattered to have even been asked. In such a short interaction I was already getting a vibe that Heath was a really sweet guy and very down-to-earth. I love it when celebrities meet or exceed your expectations for being decent human beings. In that time, both Barrett and Curtis had finished ordering and took up the waiting position with us.

"I'm Verity, pleased to make your acquaintance," I turned to Barrett and Curtis beside us and smiled, "and yours, and yours, too."

"Verity, that's a pretty name," said Barrett in his distinctive English accent. "I'm Stu."

"Thanks," I said, looking up at him. "It's great to meet you – wow, you're tall." I'm actually pretty tall for a girl myself, 5 feet 11, but Barrett still had a good half a foot over me. I then glanced at Curtis who had been the only one yet to actually verbally communicate with me. I say verbally because... that wink.

"I'd introduce myself," Curtis began, with a smirk, "but you already seem to know my name."

I laughed. "Oh, yes, but I wouldn't even dare try to pronounce it! I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself, really. It was like an involuntary reaction. Do you get that everywhere you go now?"

Curtis and the others laughed. "Actually, no, or at least not as often as WWE publicity might have you believe."

At that point my order was finally ready. I hoped after such a long wait, and for such an empty diner, my cheese would be very melty indeed and my coffee very, very hot.

"Are you eating in?" Curtis asked. I looked down at the grilled cheese sandwich in my hand, which was sitting on a plate. The diner man hadn't even asked "for here or to go".

"I guess I am," I said.

"Cool, go grab us a table." I froze for a second. Suddenly meeting and greeting some WWE wrestlers on a complete off-chance had turned into midnight coffee and snacks with them? I was okay with that. "Go on," Curtis said jokingly, putting a hand to the small of my back and pushing me in the direction of the booths. I suddenly noticed how gradually and easily Heath and Stu had been removed from my Curtis-dominated mind. "Before they're all gone!" I gave him a look and went to choose a booth. I tucked myself into the corner of the booth and looked down at my cheese sandwich, suddenly ravenous.


	2. Midnight snacks

I had chowed down the majority of my grilled cheese sandwich before the guys even had the chance to sit down. I took the first sip of my coffee as Heath and Stu took the bench opposite and Curtis slid in beside me.

"God, you must have been hungry," Stu joked, gesturing at my nearly empty plate.

"Yeah, I don't fuck around," I replied. "Actually, this is dinner. Forgot to eat. You know." I looked at what the guys had brought to the table and realised they probably did know. Full meals for every single one of them. Either they'd forgotten dinner as well or big, beefy professional wrestlers just need to eat a lot to sustain all that muscle. I glanced sideways at Curtis. Yes, what fine muscle it was.

"So what brings you to this fine establishment at this fine hour?" Curtis asked, examining his meal, probably for unwanted carbs. "Hopefully no underhanded business."

I laughed. "I'm afraid I'm not that interesting. Just on a road trip, heading east to west. It's like an after-college delay getting a real job kind of thing."

"Sounds interesting to me," Curtis said.

"It just got a hell of a lot more interesting in the last 10 minutes I can tell you," I replied, popping the last bite of grilled cheese into my mouth.

Tucked in beside Curtis in the booth against a wall I had no recourse to finish my meal and leave, even if I had wanted to, which I definitely did not. As the wrestlers finished their meals and drank their coffees I couldn't help but ask about their careers and their thoughts on the business generally. Turns out they were on their way to a Smackdown show in Denver being taped the next day. I apologised for being too nosey but they dismissed it, and in return started to question me. Soon we had all finished our drinks, and Heath stood up from the table. "Well, I don't know about anyone else," he said, "but I still feel tired as all hell. More coffee anyone?" We returned a chorus of yeses.

"Just hook it to my veins," I added, resting my head in my hands on the table.

Curtis chuckled, patting me on the back. "A girl who knows her Simpsons references."

"I grew up in the '90s," I replied, turning my head sideways to look up at his face. Did he always have to look at you so…intensely? "Simpsons references are all I know."

"Well at least we know she's over 18," Curtis said, winking in the direction of Barrett but making sure I could see. I think somewhere down the line your wrestling persona is always based in some aspect of your own personality. I was guessing flirtation was part of Curtis's.

Suddenly Barrett stood up from the table and declared he was going to find the bathroom. A sign informed us that the bathroom was accessible from the outside, around the back of the building. Curtis wished him good luck in not being murdered by chainsaw-wielding maniacs lurking in the night. As if they'd have a chance against the Barrett barrage, I joked.

So then we were alone, Curtis and I. Even though I'd been making easy conversation for the last 20 minutes I was suddenly overcome with butterflies. I think it was the way he was looking at me. I've never really liked the intense eye contact thing, especially when the person doing it to you already makes you think all sorts of severely inappropriate things. Blue eyes, well-defined pink lips (which he licked much too often to be considered family friendly) and what they refer to in the business as a 'chiselled jaw' – Johnny Curtis had made me swoon from the first glimpse of him on NXT. Some men just have that ability.

He was still looking in my direction – staring, some would say – but not saying anything, with his stupid perfect head and sculpted shoulders angled towards me. I was glad mindreading was not a thing. Suddenly my awkwardness all at once got the better of me.

"You look much better with long hair," I blurted out. He smiled, or was it a smirk? His arm was draped along the top of the bench. As he leant in, I felt his fingers brush against the back of my neck. At that point he and every one else within a 5-mile radius must have been conscious of the effect his proximity was having on me. He was doing this on purpose.

"Thanks," he said softly, as he continued to look me over. "And I think _you_ would look better with your hair down." As he said so, he ran his hand over my ponytail and twisted it at the bottom, pinning it gently to my shoulder with his thumb. He removed his hand and tilted his head at me expectantly. The space between us was filled with tension, I felt, but Curtis looked cool as a cucumber. Cocky seductive bastard. Hesistantly, I put my hands to the back of my head and pulled my hair band out with one hand, holding my hair in place with the other, then let my hair fall around my shoulders. At the roots my hair is quite a dark brown, but from about the middle down is goes kind of golden. I consider it one of my more compelling features.

"Mmm," was all he said, nodding in approval. Again he moved his hand to my hair and brushed it from the front of my shoulder to my back, exposing my neck.

"My god this is surreal," I whispered.

Heath was back with more coffee. Stu was having problems finding the bathroom evidently, or else murdered. I didn't really care. Curtis removed his hand from the top of the bench and placed it under the table, where it found its way to my knee, and then my thigh. Instinctively I narrowed the gap between my thighs, but my body clearly had other plans and so did Curtis as he slipped his fingers into the gap and I widened my legs again. Parts of my body began to cry out as Curtis casually brushed his fingers up and down the inside of my thigh through the thin material of my yoga pants, while my brain tried to stifle any visible reaction. I thanked Heath for the coffee and took a sip, my eyes flicking up to Curtis' smiling gorgeous face over the top of the mug. I didn't anticipate getting tortured tonight.


	3. Things escalate

As much as I was enjoying (way too much) Curtis's slow under the table torture, all that caffeine had gone straight to my bladder. I announced by desire to visit the bathroom, and asked Stu for the best directions.

"As soon as you go out the door, just follow the building around the right hand side to the back. There's a light above it."

Curtis had to get up to allow me to leave the booth, but not without first trying to convince me to "just climb over". I declined.

* * *

_As Verity pulled the door of the diner open to exit, Barrett called out, "Oh, hey, it's quite dark out there." She was already out of ear shot._

_"I'll just go and make sure she's all okay," Curtis quickly offered. He hadn't sat down yet. He had been watching her leave, cool calculations playing behind his eyes. He set off out of the diner and around the back after Verity._

* * *

As soon as you turned the corner of the building it was almost pitch black. I walked at a fairly slow pace, trailing my hand along the side of the building so I knew my path. The wall beneath my hand run out so I figured it was time to turn the corner. On the rear wall of the building there was a small buzzing light above what seemed to be the bathroom door, according to Stu's directions. I entered the bathroom, which was pretty dingy by all accounts, but it had a toilet and a sink and no outstanding smells or stains. All in all, not bad. I did my business, washed my hands and adjusted my hair (now that it was down after all) in the small, smudged mirror above the sink.

I was wiping my hands on my pants as I pushed open the door. Standing there in the darkness was a towering, hulking figure, which startled me at first, but then I remembered who'd been my company for the night.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," Curtis said, moving towards me, into the light. "Stu said it was dark back here so I just wanted to make sure you found your way. Then I got here and I couldn't find you."

"Yeah, I found it alright, but thanks."

Curtis was closing the distance between us rapidly. I froze in place. In the dim glow of the light above the bathroom door we were the only things illuminated. He placed his forearm on the side of the building just parallel to his head and leant against it, causing his hoodie to rise and reveal a tanned hipbone.

"So here's the thing," he started. "It's pretty obvious you're attracted to me." I said nothing, but the way I glanced up and down his torso, stretching against the side of the building, probably said all that needed to be said. "I _was_ trying to make it obvious that I wanted you in the diner, but then you ran off."

All I could say was, "Oh."

"Doesn't matter," he said, shrugging. "More private back here anyway."

I glanced around at the darkness and the still summer night. Yeah, about as private as you can get, outdoors anyway. Curtis had been inching closer to me until I had my back against the wall and his body was in front of mine, leaving about a foot of space between us. Every breath I took was shallow now. He brushed back my hair that had fallen in front of my shoulder again.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked, matter-of-factly. I managed to squeak out a yes, but Curtis had already anticipated the answer.

He closed the remaining distance between our bodies and snaked his hand around my waist. I lifted my face to meet his, his lips only millimetres from my own. I opened them in anticipation, but instead he moved his head sideways and ducked down to my neck. He began to trail kisses from the base of my neck upwards on one side, light at first and then including the use of his tongue, and teeth. Goosebumps crept up my spine as I held onto his shoulders for balance. When he reached my jawline he stopped, then licked a trail back down to the other side of my sensitive neck and repeated. I let out a little whimper. This was teasing. He knew it, too – I felt him smirk into my neck as I gripped him tighter, raking my fingers down and across his back. I needed to be kissed. Hard. Now.

Happily, Curtis obliged, bringing his lips softly to mine, and then the briefest flick of his tongue. Everything he did was just giving a taste, doing just enough to provoke you to want to feel more, take more. I'd been holding myself back for so long as he had stared at me and coolly licked his lips in the diner, and traced his hand up and down my thigh. Frustration took over. I crushed my lips against his, putting my hand behind his head and pulling him down to me. I caught his bottom lip in my teeth and gently pulled, which elicited a low growl from Curtis. Maybe he wasn't so cool after all. I decided to test this by grinding my body up into his, making sure my pelvis made contact with his groin area. That was having an effect. He responded by moving a hand to my hip and pressing me hard against the wall. His hand found its way under my t-shirt and moved up my side, leaving a trail of goosebumps as it went, until it found my bra. Curtis moved his hand across over the cup of my bra and then pulled it aside, exposing my breast under my shirt. He ran his palm over my breast and then caught my nipple in between his thumb and forefinger, pulling and lightly squeezing. I couldn't help but let out a small moan. He brushed his thumb over my nipple, his touch even lighter than before.

"Fucking tease," I whined, grinding into him. Without breaking contact with my lips he let out a little laugh and then squeezed harder. I bit down on his lip again, wanting more of him. My fingers clumsily pulled at the zip of his hoodie until it was open, exposing his bare torso. Running short of breath, I pulled back from the kiss and lustfully dragged my eyes down his chest and abs.

"You're—" I began, then paused, trying to remember the rest of the English language, "—so fuckin' hot. Like unreal amounts of hot."

"Aw, stop, you'll make me blush," he said, his voice a deadly mix of feigned coyness and pure seduction.

"I don't think anything could make you blush," I said, running my hands up and down his perfect abs. I hooked two of my fingers under his belt. "Don't they call you Dirty Curty, or is that an undeserved reputation?"

"Keep up with that kind of cheeky talk and you'll find out the hard way," he growled. With his hand still cupping my breast he squeezed my nipple harder again and I moaned in response.

"I fucking hope so."

Curtis began kissing me again, but we were rudely interrupted a moment later by a most unwelcome English accent calling from around the side of the building.

"Curt? We need to get going now, Denver's still hours away. Put your cock away."

With his lips still pressed to mine he slammed his free hand into the wall beside me, making a loud thud.

"Alright," he yelled back, sounding like an impetulant teenager responding to their parents. It made me giggle.

"Fuck. What are you giggling at?"

"You!" I said. "Oh well, at least we don't have to have unhygienic service station bathroom sex."

"Babe, I'd fuck you on the dirty floor right now." Curtis grabbed my hand and guided it to his groin so I could feel his rock-hard erection, turning his well-fitted jeans into more or less a tent. Instinctively I wrapped my hand around it best I could and squeezed. "Fuck," Curtis growled, grinding into my hand.

"Well, we are both heading to Denver…" I said, trailing off. A mischevious smile spread across his face. A part of me didn't want to wait another four hours to get my hands on Fandango again but it was better than the alternative.

"Where are you staying?" he asked.

"I have no idea. Was probably just going to sleep in my car until the hotels opened."

Curtis frowned. "That sounds like a shitty idea. Why don't you come to our hotel. We got 24 hour check-in 'cuz we're famous and stuff and I can ask to change to a private room?"

It was a trade-off I was willing to live with.


	4. Denver at last

I was still filling my car with gas when a jeep containing Heath, Stu and Curtis drove off into the night towards Denver. This was going to be the longest drive of my life. I got back into my car, took a deep breath and turned the ignition.

I had only been driving for about half an hour when my phone vibrated from the centre console. I picked it up and glanced at it: a message from Curtis. He'd given me his number as he was zipping his hoodie up (to my dismay) and then had me text him on the spot so he could have mine. There was no way I was pulling over so I read the message in a series of glances while trying to keep my eyes on the road.

**Hey sexy. Blue balls is killing me**

I quickly sent back:

I**f I get distracted and die in a car crash coz of you I'm gonna fucking haunt your ass**

Thank god for autocorrect, I was able to reply without too many errors, except it kept changing 'fucking' to 'ducking'. All he sent back was an emoticon

**O:-)**

It showed up on my iPhone as a little smiley face with a halo above it.

Well, I was right. It was a long ass drive, but soon I could see the lights of civilisation – Welcome to Denver. The guys were staying in the middle of the city at the Sheraton. I was just on the outskirts of Aurora when I got another text from Curtis.

**Checkin in. Left you a key at the front desk just tell em your name**

I just sent back a quick 'K' to let him know I got the message. Maybe 10 or 15 minutes later I got another text.

**Just got out of the shower some bellhop guy saw me in my towel ahaha**

**Jelly**

**Of me or the bellhop :-P**

**Of the towel**

**Cheeky**

Driving through deserted suburban Denver seemed like the longest part of the trip of all, maybe because I was so close to my destination – also all the traffic lights. Finally I got within sight of the Sheraton. I parked my car in a 24 hour park across the street and took my backpack with a change of clothes with me. As I entered the lobby the clerk looked up at me from the desk. I probably didn't look like their average clientele.

"Uhh, there's meant to be a room key for me left down here? My name is Verity."

Wordlessly the clerk turned to a set of desk drawers and pulled out an envelope with my name on it and the room number.

"Any luggage?" she asked.

"No. Thank you," I said, taking the envelope and heading to the elevators in the western corner.

Exiting the elevator on level 6, I walked down the long hallway counting the doors looking for 613 where Curtis would be inside. I found it four or five doors down from the elevators and swiped my key through the electronic lock. I've never had much luck with these kinds of contraptions but I guess at the Sheraton everything works first time. I opened the door and peeked my head inside. It was a small room but nicely furnished, just a double bed, a table and a TV with an en-suite bathroom off to the side. Curtis was on the bed, face down, still in his towel – sound asleep. I put my bag down by the door, kicked off my shoes and climbed onto the bed beside him.

"Curtis," I whispered, shaking his shoulder gently. His face was pressed into the pillow, his hair hanging over his face and his mouth slightly ajar. It was what an angel must look like, I thought to myself. That or an agent of the devil, sent to try to seduce me into sin. Maybe both. His towel was still wrapped around his waist but part of it was coming untucked.

"Lord, help me be strong," I groaned, trying not to take advantage of the situation I found in front of me. Curtis stirred, opening his eyes very slightly.

"Hey sexy," he mumbled. Rolling onto his side he lifted an arm and, even in his half-asleep state, he was still strong enough to pull me down onto the pillow beside him, my face inches from his own. He planted a soft kiss on my lips and then his eyes closed again. I felt my own lids becoming heavy, and that was where I fell asleep.


	5. Morning glory

_Johnny Curtis awoke around mid-morning. The first thing he noticed was that he was naked, his towel loosely draped around his hips. The second thing he noticed was the sleeping Verity beside him. He didn't really recall her coming into the room, but thinking harder he remembered waking up for half a second to find her shaking his shoulder, then dragging her down and putting his arm around her and drifting off to sleep again. She'd been driving all night, too. She probably fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow._

_Neither of them had gotten what they wanted last night. Curtis had been so frustrated as he showered last night that he started to rub his cock, getting hard thinking of Verity's hands all over his shoulders and exploring his chest, and gripping him through his jeans and squeezing. He had stopped, not wanting to come before the fun even began and then having to explain to Verity that he just couldn't wait to get off. Embarassing to say the least. But here she was now, lying fast asleep on top of the bed sheets, still dressed in her cute little yoga pants, seemingly unphased by Curtis's comparative nakedness. It was high time she woke up, he thought. He leaned over and brushed his lips over the curve of her neck._

* * *

I've always been the kind of person to dream about stuff that has literally just happened the day before. Sometimes it's annoying but considering the events of the last 12 hours this morning it was a blessing. In my dream Curtis and I had still been interrupted by Barrett, but instead of extricating ourselves from each other Johnny kept kissing my neck, even as Barrett came over and started watching us (which made it even hotter, in the dream of course) and trailing his hands around my breasts, hips and stomach.

As I began to rouse into consciousness I was still able to feel Curtis's kisses on my neck and his hand on the curve of my waist. I thought it was the most vivid dream I'd ever had until I slowly opened my eyes and was greeted with the sight of Curtis propped up on his elbow, still naked from the night before, leaning over me and kissing me awake.

"Mmm, morning," I mumbled.

"Hey sexy," Curtis whispered, his lips on my earlobe now gently nibbling. "Sorry I fell asleep on you last night."

"S'okay."

"I'll make it up to you now."

With that, Curtis rolled on top of me and pushed my shirt up to above my bra, trailing kisses up my stomach, before pulling it over my head. As I lifted my torso to get my shirt out from under me Curtis slipped his hand behind my back and deftly unhooked my bra. Throwing it aside, he pushed me back down onto the bed and took my nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it several times before gently biting. I let out a little whimper – everything was incredibly sensitive to Curtis's touch.

Curtis kissed his way back down my stomach to the hem of my pants where he pulled them and my underwear down in one movement. Tossing them aside he immediately came back and started tracing my hip bone with his tongue diagonally down to my groin. He pushed my legs up and apart to expose my wetness and flicked his tongue over my clit. I couldn't help but buck my hips into him.

"Mmm, you're dripping for me aren't you?" he purred into me, licking upwards once again. I couldn't reply but for a groan. Hungrily he opened his mouth onto me, rolling his tongue over me and then dipping inside my core which made me cry out. I dove a hand into Curtis's hair and ground against him, begging for more. He moved his grip on my legs to my ass and lifted me from the bed, giving himself a better angle to reach inside me with his tongue. I started to moan and pant like I was in some kind of porn movie, the way Curtis was making me feel I had to grip the sheets to keep in contact with reality.

"You want me to make you come baby?" he asked, looking up and licking his lips.

"Yes," I panted. "Need to—oh fuck!"

Curtis dropped me to the bed and thrust two fingers inside me at once, all the while keeping his mouth and tongue moving on my sensitive clit. All at once I saw stars and felt the first waves of my orgasm start to crash down on me. Curtis kept pumping his fingers in and out of me, in time with the rhythm of his tongue on my clit. It was all too much. I writhed under him as I came, drenching his fingers in my juices, mumbling incoherently. Curtis moved back up over me and kissed me, hard.

"That was awesome, babe," he said. Somewhere in all of the action he had lost his towel. I looked down to see for the first time his exposed erection, long and hard and already dripping a little precum. Feeling myself come back a little from my devastating orgasm I propped myself up with one elbow to kiss him again and took his cock in my other hand. I bit his lip like I had last night then pulled back.

"Fuck me now?" I asked, but it was really more like a demand. He didn't even reply, he just thrust forward and entered me in one motion, filling me to the hilt.

"God, fuck," he growled. "So good, so wet."

Slowly he pulled out and then re-entered, sending pleasure shockwaves from my core up through my body. I buried my head into his shoulder as he thrust himself into me from head to base, grinding and finding the best angle, then thrusting again. Soon he found a rhythm and began pumping me hard, the familiar sound of skin against skin mixing with my sharp breaths and his throaty growls.

"Not gonna last long," he said in between thrusts. They were becoming more frantic and harder. So soon after my first I felt another orgasm creeping up on me. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him in, begging for it faster, harder.

"Come with me," I moaned, finding his lips and tugging on his bottom lip. Curtis picked up the pace even more, holding me in place with his muscular arms as he hammered me. Inside of me I felt Curtis twitch and a moment later he was coming hard inside of me, groaning into the crook of my neck. The pulsations of his cock set me off and then I was coming again, gripping his shoulders and riding the shockwaves down.

We just lay there for a moment, Curtis on top of me, breathing hard, and me under him still coming back down to earth. Unfortunately, breathing is a thing that needs to happen and having a 240lb-plus sex god on top of you tends to make that difficult.

"Heavy," I gasped. "Get off."

"Sorry," Curtis said, rolling onto his side and then onto his back next to me. I sidled up to him and tucked myself under his arm, resting my head on his chest.

"Mm, don't be," I replied, kind of drowsy in the post-sex afterglow. "Dirty Curty lives up to his expectations."

"Fuck yeah I do."

* * *

_**In the words of Homer Simpson, "that's the end of that chapter"! But I am thinking about maybe continuing this story - Curtis and Verity seem to have a connection and some definite chemistry. Reviews would be helpful I guess. Thanks for reading :)**_


	6. Intermission

**So I decided to continue the story. Little plot bunnies kept popping up and wouldn't go away... Reviews are most welcome and encouraged, especially with your thoughts on the story and its direction, where you think it will go, where you want it to go, etc.**

* * *

We couldn't lay together in the post-orgasmic bliss for long. Curtis was expected at the arena at 3pm, and before that he said he wanted to get something to eat and walk around a bit to get his legs moving again after such a long drive. He said he wouldn't go to the gym since, in his words, "sex is the best exercise."

It felt like eternity before either of us decided to move but in reality it was probably only about 10 minutes. I was enjoying just laying there, Curtis running his fingers up and down by bare arm and back, but then suddenly I remembered: detours aside, I was still technically on a road trip. There was a fully-functioning, luxurious shower behind that bathroom door. I jerked myself upright.

"I call first shower," I said, rolling over the top of Curtis, who was on the side of the bed closest to the bathroom.

"What—bitch!" he realised, not quick enough to pull me back. He managed to get his hand out fast enough to smack me playfully on the ass as I dashed into the bathroom and shut the door behind me. I thought to lock it just to seal my victory but decided against it. It was his room after all – I was just a guest.

There was a fresh towel still in the bathroom – the one that Curtis hadn't used for his shower last night – and some tiny bottles of fancy hotel shampoo and soap. Yes, this would do nicely. I opened the frosted glass shower door and started fiddling with the taps to get the right balance of hot water. I stepped under the jets and let the water stream over my face and hair. Pouring some shampoo into my palm and lathering it into my hair, I felt the dirt of the last day wash itself away. As I rinsed my hair out Curtis came into the bathroom, his tall, tanned figure blurred behind the shower glass. He came over and opened the shower and just stood there, looking me up and down, a smile playing across his face. I returned the favour, taking in his gorgeous naked form, his V-shaped torso and his hips, not to mention all the places I hadn't even gotten to explore properly due to the urgent nature of our encounter. I have made an excellent decision, I thought.

"Have you considered being naked permanently?" I asked casually, running my hands through my wet hair – partly to get rid of any remaining shampoo, partly to stretch out my own torso and give Curtis a more enticing view.

"I suggested it," he replied, stepping into the shower and pressing himself against me to get himself under the shower stream. "Stupid stuffy corporate types weren't prepared to move the show to the midnight slot though."

I took some water in my hands and splashed it over his shoulders and chest. "Their loss."

Curtis and I caressed and ran water and soap over each others' bodies. I don't think I've ever gotten clean in such a dirty way. Somewhere in the process we forgot about the showering part. I was pressed up against the cool shower wall, Curtis kissing me hard, steam rising from our bodies. He slid his wet fingers into my folds, which were still pretty sensitive from our earlier escapades.

"Don't start something you—" I gasped, "—can't finish, Curty."

"I finish everything I start," he whispered with his lips upon my ears. Grabbing me by the hips he turned me around to the face the wall, pulling my ass to his hips. The shower tiles were cool and wet against my cheek, which was growing more flushed by the minute. He planted a firm slap on my left ass cheek before grinding himself into me. I felt him stir against me, his half-erect cock twitching up my thigh. He took in a deep breath. "Just not now. I got stuff to do."

He pulled away from me and exited the shower before I had time to turn around. When I did he was standing there, dripping wet and naked, grinning mischeviously at me. I needed to get out from under this steamy showerhead, or at least turn the cold all the way up.

"What are you playing at, Curtis?" I demanded playfully, turning the shower off and stepping out beside him onto the shower mat. I grabbed my towel and wrapped it around me, not sure why I was suddenly feeling like I should cover up.

"Insurance," he said, as if that explained a damn thing.

"Insurance," I repeated.

"You want to fuck me again now so you have to come back after I finish tonight."

I paused. "Touche."

"You wanna come get lunch with me?"

"Okay."

Drying off in the main room, I started to change into my day clothes – just skinny jeans and a t-shirt – as other thoughts started to run through my mind. I knew at some point Curtis was going to get sick of my company, having gotten what he wanted, nearly more than once. I was under no illusions about what our brief acquaintance was or ever could be, but until then, I thought I may as well just go along for the ride, expectation free.

* * *

I'm a New England girl, lived and went to school in New Hampshire since I was pretty young. I've never been to Denver. The Sheraton practically looks down to the famous 16th Street Mall though, so it was pretty easy to stick to walking up and down that, deciding on a place to eat, ducking into whatever store looked interesting enough. I told Curtis I wanted to get a souvenir or too for my Mom and Dad back home, to prove I'd come so far west. He laughed at that. "Your folks haven't travelled much?"

"They one time went to Indianapolis. Dad thought he was a frontiersman or something," I replied. "We usually went to Canada for our vacations anyway, since that's technically visiting another country, and therefore fancier."

"Oh, I'm from Maine – where are you from?"

"New Hampshire," I said. "Basically neighbors."

Curtis decided he felt like something Mexican so we settled into a little booth at Chipotle. We started eating in a comfortable silence.

"So," I began, stirring a fork through my salad, "I just have to ask. I could have been a psycho, a stalker, a thief, or worse, a mark. I still could be all those things. You let me into your hotel room like it was nothing and now we're having lunch like we didn't meet in a fucking truck stop or something. Are you stupid, confident or just a really good judge of character?"

Curtis shrugged and laughed. "I dunno, all three? I've met a lot of people and I know that 95% of them are usually who they seem to be, and you seem cool."

"Aw."

The more and more I talked to Curtis over lunch, it turned out he was pretty cool, too. The waitress who came to collect our plates flirted outrageously, but it rolled off him like a cool breeze. When she left he glanced sideways and said, quietly horrified, "Who flirts with a guy when they're obviously with someone?"

"She was hot, though," I teased. It was true. She was blonde, petite and laden with black eye-liner. If I'd been standing next to her I'm sure I would have looked very homely what with my un-made-up face and my curves in contrast to her sharp angles.

"Despite your experience thus far, I actually don't sleep with every woman who eye fucks me," he joked.

I laughed, then bit my lip, purposely dragging my eyes over his angular cheeks, delicious lower lip and jawline, down his throat to the open neck of his shirt. It was an enjoyable way to tease.

"Stop it, you," Curtis said. "I have to work this afternoon."

"What?" I said, feigning innocence.

"If you keep looking at me like that I'm going to end up spending all day in the hotel room."

"Oh, doing what? I thought I might go to the museum later…" I said off-handedly.

"Maybe I will go get that blonde's number," he threatened.

"Maybe I'll accidentally drop my phone under the table and get you so worked up you can't leave for another half an hour." No way was Curtis going to have the last word on this one. He'd done enough tormenting this morning.

"Maybe I just take you back to the hotel right now."

We shared an intense exchange of eye contact, both of us calculating the length of time it would take us to get back up to the room, and what we would do to each other once we were inside. Curtis actually started standing up and for a minute I was a little afraid he was going lunge across the table at me. Then he caught a glimpse of his watch.

"Damn," he said. I glanced at the clock on the wall. There wasn't nearly enough time for that kind of thing. I couldn't tell which of us was the more disappointed.

* * *

After lunch, Curtis needed to go back to the hotel room to get his stuff for the show. I kind of wanted to be heading in the opposite direction to explore Denver some more, so we parted ways.

"Promise you're not going to run off anywhere?" he said, gripping my hips. "I'm not finished with you yet."

"Pinky swear."

"Actually…" he began, his face comprised into deep thought. It was cute.

"Actually what?"

"I could probably get you a ticket for the show tonight. It's not sold out."

To my shame as a self-professed wrestling fan, I hadn't even thought about trying to attend the show. It seemed a bit stalkerish, and I sure as hell wasn't going to ask the guy who had given me a morning of mind-blowing pleasure to go out of his way. But if he was offering? Kind of rude to say no. It wasn't like I had plans.

"Do you think you could?" I asked, wide-eyed. "Because that. Would. Be. Awesome."

Seeing the look of joy on my face, Curtis smiled.

"Maybe I could even get you backstage? The others do it all the time. I could introduce you to your favorite wrestlers – besides me, of course."

He was getting carried away. This was all too much. Doubt crept into my stomach. The others did it all the time? Did he mean they brought their groupies backstage?

"I don't know about that…"

If I was going to meet a bunch of my favorite wrestlers, I didn't want to do it with the stigma of just having fucked one of them to get back there. I'd be – what was the term? – a ring rat. I think Curtis must have seen the hesitancy in my face.

"It's okay, I can tell them you're my… friend? A lot worse goes on back there than me bringing a girl I slept with backstage."

"I guess…" It was starting to sound alright but I was still far from convinced.

"The Undertaker is going to be there."

My mouth dropped open, and in that moment, the eight-year-old inside of me went completely apeshit.

"I thought that might do the trick."

"Only if you're sure you can do it and it won't be a bother or get you in trouble. I don't want to mess up anything for you."

"You won't."


	7. Behind the scenes

**Thank you so much to the various people who reviewed the last couple of chapters. Having people comment on your work is such a great motivator to actually keep going with it. I always hated it when I was getting into a multi-chaptered story and then, boom, no more updates. So thanks is what I'm trying to say! As a reward, please enjoy this mega-long chapter!**

* * *

Denver was a great place to visit but as I wandered through its parks and streets my mind was yelling at me the whole time.

_YOU'RE GOING TO SEE SMACKDOWN. YOU'RE GOING BACKSTAGE. YOU MIGHT SEE THE UNDERTAKER. AHHHH._

Very irritating.

The afternoon went painfully slowly and almost too fast all at the same time. Before I knew it it was 5 o'clock, and I realised I needed to get back to my car to find some better clothes to wear and make myself look presentable for the show at 7. I chose to keep the jeans I was wearing on, figuring a Smackdown event was unlikely to have a dress code. Plus, I'd need comfortable pants if I was going to be jumping up and sitting down all night when wrestlers came out. Like most normal individuals, I don't carry a great variety of wrestling shirts around with me. In fact, the only one I own is an over-sized Y2J shirt I got as a gift a few years back, which I sleep in. I changed out of my t-shirt into a blue and green sleeveless top, and put on a knitted black cardigan for warmth. Good enough. In Curtis's room I applied a little make-up and ran a brush through my hair again. It had gotten a little windswept from all my walking around today. My phone buzzed in my pocket.

**Come to the back parking lot before 6 and give me a call. I'll come out and bring you in :D**

Always with the smileys, Curtis. It was 5:30. Better get going.

* * *

As I approached the parking lot Curtis specified, I noticed it was full of buses, production stuff and busy looking people wearing black clothes and WWE logos. Rather than wander into that mess, I called Curtis from just off to the side.

"Hey sexy," he greeted me.

"I have a name you know."

"Yeah, and it's an adjective, and sexy is an adjective that also describes you."

"Actually, 'verity' is a noun, but I get your point. I'm here, by the way. I didn't come into the parking lot because it was too intimidating."

"Oh… oh yeah, all the production stuff. Where are you?"

"Just off around the corner, lurking and stuff."

"Alright, seeya in a minute."

A few minutes later he poked his head around the corner. He was holding a lanyard with a laminated card on it. He put it over my head. My backstage pass.

"Haha, you're wearing make-up," he said in an immature tone of voice. I poked my tongue out at him. To my surprise, he took my hand and led me through the parking lot. No one looked twice at us. They were all busy working. We stopped in a hallway.

"Obviously you're cool to wander around til the show starts, just don't go into any doors marked private."

"Obviously," I repeated.

"There's a seat in the fifth row for you." He handed me a ticket that would gain me entry to the audience area.

"Oh wow, fifth row tickets? Maybe I should have fucked John Cena instead," I joked, poking him in the ribs. He grabbed my hand and pulled me in close.

"You've got such a fucking mouth on you," he growled seductively. "I love it." I gazed at his lips – they were practically begging to be kissed.

"Have you got any free time before the show?" I asked, moving up onto my toes to place my lips on his neck.

"Nn—not really," he said. "I ran away from the make-up people to come get you."

I sniggered. I knew make-up was part of going on TV. Looking up at Curtis I didn't really see how painting over his face could possibly be an improvement, but what did I know?

"Better run back then," I said, playfully slapping his ass. "I'll see you out there."

"You'll be alright on your own?"

"Yeah," I said, looking around, scoping out a place in the hallway that looked out of the way. "I'll make myself a part of the scenery."

* * *

I perched myself cross-legged on a stack of wooden slats that were sitting in the hallway for some reason. Hopefully nobody needed those. Sitting there watching everything and everyone move past me was a little bit mindblowing, to be honest. Superstars and divas made their ways up and down the hallways, most of them buried in their smartphones, checking Twitter or the like, I assumed. I tried to look a bit busy, at least, pulling out my own phone.

"Fancy meeting you here," somebody drawled. I looked up. Heath.

"Oh, hi!"

"Now I know why Curt wanted the private room." He smiled knowingly.

"Yeah…" I said, my eyes darting off to the side. Heath laughed.

"It's all good, no judgment here, man. He needs a nice girl like you. Didn't expect him to find one on the side of the road though."

I was glad I wasn't the only one who recognised the absurdity of the situation.

"Are you wrestling tonight?" I asked.

"Yeah, your boy actually."

"Ooh!" I perked up. "That I can't wait to see. Please tell me it's a dance-off."

Heath shrugged ambiguously. He wasn't about to give it away I guessed.

"Curtis got you a seat out there?"

"Yeah, fifth row."

"Cool bananas. I'll see you out there then!"

"You bet." I smiled as he walked off. As much as I had always had a huge crush on Curtis, I think I probably had a bit of a friend-crush on Heath as well. I looked back down at my phone and smiled.

A few minutes later I was startled out of my absent-minded state by a sudden vibration. There was a phone sitting on the slats in front of me. Heath must have had it in his hand, put it down while talking to me and then forgot about it. I glanced at the screen – it was a message from 'Stephanie', which I guessed was his girlfriend or wife probably. I groaned inwardly. I'd have to get his phone back to him. I never asked for this kind of responsibility!

My first, frankly brilliant, idea was to try to call Curtis, but he didn't answer. Great. Unless either of them walked past me this instant I was going to have to go on some sort of awkward quest to deliver the phone. I set off down the hall in the direction that Heath, and others, had gone. I remembered Curtis's directions. Don't go in any doors marked private. All the doors were marked private, so that was real helpful. I think I eventually wandered into some kind of catering area, judging by the fruit platters.

My breath hitched in my throat and I swear I nearly gripped Heath's phone so tight I could have busted it when I saw who was picking through the fruit. The motherfucking Undertaker. Apparently he likes grapes. Well, I had wanted to see him tonight. He didn't look super busy so I justified myself in going up to him.

"Hi, excuse me, Mr, umm, Under...taker?"

He chuckled. I made the Undertaker laugh. Good start. Great start. Okay, now don't just stand there like a fool.

"Mark," he said, his deep Texan voice practically booming. He extended his hand and I shook it. It was massive. He was massive. I felt like a little kid in his presence.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you but I – I just wanted to say hi, and tell you how much I respect you and – and I'm such a big fan, really. It's an honor. Sorry, I'm talking too much."

"You're not disturbing me, I'm just eatin' fruit. Thanks for the kind words."

"Oh, great, uh – you're welcome! I'm probably pushing my luck here but I wonder if you'd take a quick photo with me on my phone? I just have to show my dad that I met you."

"Only if I don't have to bend down," he said, putting a hand on his back.

I laughed and held my phone out as far as my arm would stretch – pretty far, but the height difference was still a lot to take in, even in portrait mode. I snapped the photo and checked it wasn't blurry.

"Thank you so, so much, uhh – Mark," I said.

"My pleasure." He was a pretty laconic kind of guy, especially in contrast to the talkative Heath Slater and, well… Curtis.

"I'm also trying to get this phone back to Heath Slater. He left it lying around. Do you know where I might be able to find him?" I held up the phone, as if for proof. The Undertaker – Mark – scratched his head.

"Third door down, should be," he said, pointing.

"Okay, thanks, thank you, uh – for everything!" I said. Way to play it cool, V. I shot off down the hallway to the door he had indicated. Marked private. I knocked timidly. After a few seconds the handle turned, the door opened and out popped the head of… Sheamus?

"Hi, can I help you?" he said in his Irish lilt.

"Hi, sorry to disturb. Is Heath Slater in there? I have his phone. He left it..."

"Yeah, he's here. I'll grab it." He held out his hand and I put the phone into it.

"Thanks," I said.

"Welcome," he replied, tipping an invisible hat before shutting the door. As I swung around to walk back the way I came I found myself face to face with a grinning Curtis.

"Whoa!" I said, as my shoulder knocked into his chest. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Maybe a little while," he confessed. "I have a few minutes free now. Is there anyone you want to meet?"

"No!" I said, a little too excitedly probably. "Because I just met the Undertaker like 5 minutes ago!"

"Whoa, good for you, honey. Nice guy, right?"

"Yeah!" I dug into my pocket and pulled my phone with the photo I had taken on it to show Curtis. "I'm changing my background to it right now."

"Pffft, nahhh, that old dinosaur looking at you all day? You should change it to one of me and you."

"I don't have a photo of me and you," I said sweetly.

"Then take one," he said, mimicking my tone. I flicked over to the camera app and pointed the lens at our faces. The phone made a satisfying clicky noise and I showed Curtis. It was a nice photo, just the two of us, cheek to cheek, grinning at the camera.

"Pffft lame, I'll show you how to take a photo." He held the camera out again then without warning pulled me in around the waist and kissed me, slightly sucking on my bottom lip. The camera clicked. He gave my phone back and I looked down at the image.

"Yeah that is actually much better," I admitted.

"Okay now send it to my phone," Curtis instructed. "When you can, I guess. There's fuck all reception in this place." It was only then, when I looked to see if Curtis had his phone, that I realised that Curtis was wearing his Fandango costume – his sparkly gold pants (my personal favorite) and vest. There was frankly no room for a phone in all of that – or if there was, I'm not sure I wanted to know where he was keeping it.

"Nice outfit," I remarked. I looked him up and down, kind of hungrily. I'd seen him in this get up a bunch of times, in TV and photos, but it had a very different effect in person. The pants were tight, stretching over a prominent bulge. The fabric clung to his thighs before fanning out at the knee. I suppressed a burning request to have him spin around for me, although I'm sure he would have obliged if I'd asked.

"You know I look hot," he retorted.

"Oh yeah, burn baby burn… Disco inferno!" I teased, running my hands up and down his little gold vest.

"Shut uuup," he whined. "Your words are so hurtful."

"Holy shit, I just realised I now have a picture of myself kissing a gayer, bulkier Patrick Swayze."

"I'm going to hurt you now, do you realise," he said, scooping me up against him, his face coming within inches of my own.

"Save it for the ring, Johnny Castle."

"It's… Faaan—" Was he seriously doing this? I didn't let him get to the second syllable before I closed the distance between our lips for a searing kiss.


	8. Smackdown in Denver

The lights dimmed across the arena, then the music began and a voice rang out. Showtime. Everyone else stood up, so I was kind of forced too as well. I noticed that the top of the stage was adorned with a bunch of golden streamers. I might be seeing the one and only Fandango out here sooner than I thought! Sure enough, the music that I had so innocently hummed in that highway diner, how I had first caught Curtis's attention, began to play. His dancer preceded him, twirling gracefully, and then he strutted out, gyrating for the crowd, kissing his dancer's hand. I couldn't suppress a giggle. Pro wrestling is so fucking weird when you think about it.

He pranced on down to the ring, pausing to pose on the outside of the ropes. He gave a devilish wink before athletically leaping over the top rope. His dancer fetched him the mic, sliding down into a graceful split in front of him. If only I was that flexible, I sighed internally.

"It's come to my attention..." he began in a deep, gravelly voice with a slight unplaceable accent. It was so different to his normal voice. Acting, man. "...that the vast majority of you people..." His voice dripped with contempt. "...need a big lesson in the art...of dance!" As he said 'dance' he threw his arms into a dramatic pose, his nose pointed toward the ceiling. "Luckily for you, I have graciously-"

_WE'RE A THREE MAN BAAAAAND….._

The crowd erupted in a mixture of cheers, because of the look of sheer outrage on Fandango's face at being interrupted, and boos, because it was the perpetually irritating Heath Slater and the 3MB that had interrupted him.

"Sorry to interrupt, Faaan-Daaaaan-Go or however you say your name," Heath began, the other members of 3MB flanking him on either side as they walked down to the ring. "You think you're lord of the dance around here? I've got news. No one wants to do your dumb Fandangoing." The crowd roared in vehement disagreement. 3MB stepped inside the ring, now flanking Fandango. I didn't see how this could end in a dance off.

"I think the WWE universe would much rather the best rock band in the world show them how to boogie!" With that, Heath launched into the silliest dance I think I have ever reasonably seen. Enraged, Fandango attacked, delivering a swift kick to Heath's gut, followed by a few blows to the back. The other members of 3MB jumped in, their forearms crashing down on Fandango. He fought them off (bravely I might add) but the numbers weren't on his side and he knew it. He held onto the top rope and dove over it, planting his other hand on the outside apron before majestically landing on his feet. He brushed his hair back and preened himself, as if all that the three men had been able to do to him was mess up his appearance, but he had a wild glare in his eyes. He held out his hand and his dancer returned to him as he continued to stare down the men in the ring. They hastily, but still decidedly pompously, made their way up the ramp before exiting back behind the curtain. The match between Heath and Curtis was scheduled for later that night.

* * *

**Curtis's POV (3rd person)**

* * *

After the match, Curtis and Heath found themselves recovering in the locker room they shared with a few other guys, lazily removing their boots. It was a good match. The crowd responded – Fandango had dominated, of course, even with interference from the rest of Slater's 'band members'.

"Ready for a big one tonight, lads?" Sheamus asked, already changed back into his street clothes. Heath shook his head.

"Nah, man, I'm gonna call my wife, talk to my daughter, then head to bed."

"Alright, alright." Now Sheamus looked at Curtis, who had his head down. He, too, had an idea of how his night would go from here.

"I'm gonna have to bail, too, man."

"Why?" he asked incredulously. "You haven't got a missus at home, why not come out and sample the lovely lasses with me?"

Heath sniggered, which drew Sheamus's attention.

"Or does he?"

"Yeah…" Curtis started, "…well, no – yes and no. She's not my 'missus'."

At that moment Cody Rhodes and Damien Sandow, or Aaron as he was known to his friends, walked in, having just competed in the main event, unsuccessfully, for the tag-team titles.

"Curtis's got a missus!" Cody taunted. "You're not coming out with us?" Curtis shook his head.

"Laaaame," Aaron sighed. Here was another great example of a guy whose on-screen persona was so different to his real life personality. "Chicks man – I thought you were all about the chicks!"

"There's already one in my hotel bed waiting for me," Curtis fought back, laughing. As if on cue, his phone let off a chime and a loud buzz. It was Verity, sending him both of the photos they had taken earlier. She was probably out of the arena on her way back now. He smiled, hopefully not too noticeably, at the one of him biting her lower lip. Her eyes were squeezed shut, mouth opened onto his, oh so receptive to his kiss.

With uncharacteristically cat-like speed, Sheamus swiped the phone from its loose grip in Curtis's hand. He nodded his head in approval before passing his phone onto Cody and Aaron. There was no point in protesting. Their mouth-watering kiss photo was being shared with a significant portion of the locker room now.

"Smooth. Alright man, fair call," Sheamus said. At least he had their approval, not that he needed it. They were going out to try and sweet-talk some Denver chicks, not that it would be hard, but all he had to do was go back to his quiet, comfy hotel room and there she would be, her long golden hair splayed about the pillow, big blue eyes looking up at him lustfully. Maybe she'd be in her underwear, or better, naked, waiting for him. Suddenly he couldn't wait to leave. Aaron threw him his phone back. Sorry Ver, he thought, I know you didn't want everyone seeing that.

He hoped they didn't have any more questions that he'd have to give some super weird answers to, for instance about how he'd met her or what she was doing in Denver. They didn't.

As Curtis walked out of the arena, bag on shoulder, phone in pocket, he couldn't quite work out why he cared so much about this girl's feelings that he'd met less than 24 hours earlier. He was, as the guys rightly said, all about the chicks, and that meant their bodies, not their stupid girly hearts. He'd felt thoroughly out of character this whole last day. Why had this sexy, intelligent, funny girl suddenly walked into his life, and how was she working her magic on him so damn well? More to the point, where was the catch?


	9. Blue and Yellow

_Should've done something but I've done it enough_

_By the way your hands were shaking_

_Rather waste some time with you_

- 'Blue and Yellow', The Used

* * *

**Verity's POV (1st person)**

* * *

I swiped my hotel keycard to let myself back into Curtis's room at about 10:30pm, the show having ended about half an hour prior. The smell of the arena – of hot food, sweaty men and…did I detect a hint of vomit? – had travelled with me. These clothes would need a wash. I stripped down and put them in a separate pouch of my suitcase, which I had just ended up bringing up to the room before the show for convenience's sake.

I'll be honest, it was good to shower alone this time. Soaping each other up can be good, adult fun but you're never going to get the good scrub you need as when you shower solo. Fact. Feeling sufficiently clean, I stepped out of the shower and wrapped my towel from this morning around me.

From there I had a couple of options: put more day clothes back on just for Curtis to tear off as soon as he got back, put my unappealing flannelette pajamas on for the same end result, or sit there waiting in my towel, greeting Curtis in the same way he'd greeted me when I walked in early this morning. Except I planned to be awake. I went for option three. Grabbing the TV remote I let myself fall onto the bed, towel wrapped tightly around me. I flicked channels until I found some late night news. Watching the news always made everything feel normal, and where I was right now, what I was wearing, who I was waiting for – it was the very opposite of normal.

I heard the familiar electronic click of the hotel room door about half an hour later, half expecting it to be the bellhop or a maid. It was not. Curtis walked in, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and pushed the door shut behind him. His hair was messy, his eyes tired. It was at about that point he saw me sitting on the bed, propped up on some pillows, in my towel.

"Hard day at the office?" I asked with a touch of fake sympathy.

"Shhh…" he said, dropping his duffel bag to the floor and lifting his t-shirt over his head in one graceful movement. Well, hello. Without hesitation or delay he walked up and put one knee on the foot of the bed, leaning over to grab the remote and turn the TV off, then climbed the rest of the way up the bed.

The rest of Curtis's clothes and my towel became a puddle on the floor faster than I had time to realise. He was naked on top of me, trailing kisses down my neck and chest. He began to work his way down, but I stopped him and pulled him back up to me.

"That's just a replay of this morning," I said, rolling my eyes at him playfully.

"But this morning was awesome," he protested. I reached up to kiss the corner of his jaw and whispered in his ear, "Lay on your back?"

He obliged. Straddled above him, looking down at Curtis resting his head on his arms, it was a sight to behold. All of his muscles were spread out and lean—I just had to run my hands over them, and better yet, taste them. I started at his collarbone, running my tongue along the crease, then moved down to one big, rockhard pectoral muscle and a surprisingly small, dark nipple. Flicking my tongue over that, Curtis let out a satisfied "Mmm…" and I moved to the other one before heading further down. I traced my tongue down the centreline of his abs until I reached his belly button, then found and followed that distinctive V line formation down toward his groin.

Having been so aroused by Curtis this morning, I barely noticed when he finally thrust himself into me how huge he was. No wonder he was always bulging out of his wrestling gear. My eyes widened as I came face to face with his erection. How was that thing meant to fit, well, anywhere? I tentatively licked the head, where precum was already starting to appear, which elicited a groan from Curtis. Taking him lightly in my hand I licked from the base of his cock right back up to the tip, feeling his hips move up with my tongue. He put his hand to the side of my head, his fingers tangling through my still damp hair, begging me to go down more, to stop with the teasing. Once more I circled my tongue around the head and then opened my mouth and let him slip inside me. The way he bucked up almost made me gag, but I kept going, sliding my mouth slowly up and down his throbbing member, making sure to move my tongue up and down the sensitive underside. When I felt comfortable with how far I could let him into my mouth I began to pick up the pace, bobbing up and down fast as Curtis held onto my hair with one hand and tried not to buck his hips up too far. I stole a glance upwards to see that he had moved up onto one elbow and was watching me with his mouth hung open, his abs expanding and contracting in time with his heavy breathing.

"Fuck, Ver—ohmygod," he mumbled, keeping his grip on me tight. The sounds and sights of him getting off in my mouth was making me wet as I hungrily sucked and licked him. I wrapped one of my hands tightly around the lower half of his cock where my lips couldn't reach and massaged him in time with my mouth.

"Fuck!" he said again, and then, "Wait—stop, god, if you keep going I'm gonna—"

I felt it as well. I released his cock and moved my mouth away. Didn't want the night to be over quite that soon.

"Need to be inside you," he muttered, sitting up and pulling my body close to him. It was the way he said 'need'. I moved over his hips, kneeling there, and guided him to my entrance. "Like this?" I asked quietly. He tilted his head up and captured my lips in one instant, and in the next he had grabbed my hips and pulled me down, his cock penetrating me all the way to my core. I threw my head back and ground against him at the sensation, full to the hilt. As I started moving he breathed in sharply and laid back onto the pillow so he could use his hands to grip my hips and move me the way he wanted. His hands were strong, and even though I was on top, I was basically a puppet to what he wanted me to do. As he lifted his hips he slammed me down hard, over and over, causing me to bounce up and down.

"God you look amazing," he said, running his hands up and down my sides as I continued in the rhythm he set. I looked down. "Not too bad yourself," I replied in between breaths. Wanting to try a different angle, I leant forward. Curtis responded by putting two hands on my asscheeks and working me again. Then he pulled one hand away and, to my surprise, came back down with a hard little slap. I almost came on the spot. I whined and pushed down harder on him. Curtis growled, approving of my reaction and smacked me again, slightly harder. I moaned loudly and ground into him desperately.

"Oh, you like that, don't you?" he purred in my ear. "You like being my little slut?"

Oh, fuck, Curtis, dirty talk now? My mind went blank with desire. I think I panted out a desperate 'yes'. He continued to intermittently spank me to a point where I couldn't physically ride him any harder. Curtis seemed to get frustrated by this.

"Get on your knees," he growled. He sat up and I swung my leg over him and obediently got on all fours. He moved to position himself behind me and held his cock at my entrance again, but before he plunged back inside me he gently guided my shoulders down towards the bed so that my cheek was resting on a pillow, my ass up in the air.

"That's better," he said, running a hand over my round cheeks. He spanked me again, hard.

"Curtis…" I moaned. "Please…"

With that, he thrust back into me, feeling just as big if not bigger than just a minute ago. I was helpless as he pounded me, skin slapping skin, his grunts increasing in volume with the frequency of his thrusts. Relentlessly he fucked me, reaching one hand around to rub circles over my sensitive clit.

"Fuck!" I basically screamed as he touched me. The orgasm came like a bolt of lightning. One minute I was fine, then the next I was spiralling, spiralling out of control. I arched my back and cried his name, pushing myself into him as I came all over his pulsating cock. Post-orgasmic shockwaves kept contracting me around Curtis, which he seemed to like. He increased his pace, his thrusts becoming shorter and more frantic.

"Verity…" he moaned quietly. I felt him pull out of me and finish himself off all over my ass and back, short grunts and "ahhs" escaping his lips. I really wished I could have seen it. It sounded like heaven.

Maybe about 20 minutes later, after the cleanup, I lay there in Curtis's arms.

"I realised while I was fucking you just then that I probably shouldn't have come in you this morning," Curtis said. "That was pretty stupid."

"Yeah…" I agreed. "But I wouldn't have let you if I wasn't on birth control you know."

"Yeah… I kind of took a chance on that."

"You took a chance on me, you mean."

"Yeah I guess I did, didn't I?" Curtis shrugged, with some difficulty since my head was resting on his shoulder. "You took a chance on me, too, though."

"Paid off…" I said sleepily.

"We should talk about—" Curtis yawned, "—stuff. I still don't even know that much about you, apart from that you're on birth control, and you give amazing blowjobs."

"In the morning. Sleep now."

We did.


	10. That's What Counts

_We shouldn't think about last night_

_Nobody's proud of what they've done_

_Oh, let's not argue about what's right_

_Let's just agree that it was fun_

- 'That's What Counts', We Are Scientists

* * *

**Verity's POV**

* * *

Miraculously, for the second morning in a row I woke up next to Curtis and the sun was, for the most part, up. We'd fallen asleep on top of the covers, both naked, and now with the chill of a Denver early morning I found myself shivering. Goosebumps covered my arms and exposed back.

"Oh my god I'm so cold," I said, snuggling into Curtis's still somehow warm body.

"Get under the sheets then," Curtis said, laughing.

"But it seems like such a shame to ruin them when they're all neat and clean!"

"You think that after we did last night they're still clean?"

"Good point." I tugged at the sheets and tucked my legs under, then pulled the sheets up to my neck

Curtis followed me into the bed, his large arms pulling me into him. Our naked bodies pressed together and for once I had no real urge to turn that into something more active. Okay, maybe just a little bit of an urge.

"What time is it?" I asked.

"Early."

"Okay cool." I wasn't really tired anymore but I continued to lay there with my eyes closed, quite comfortable.

"So," Curtis said. "Tell me what I need to know about Verity—"

He stopped as he came to the realisation that he didn't know my last name.

"Whelan."

"Signing your initials must be awesome."

"It is actually, because my middle name is Michelle. VMW."

Curtis laughed. So he knew my initials now. It was the start of quite a long list of basic information about a person. It's amazing how long you can spend with someone, talking to them, without really getting to the vital facts of them as a person. You could say Curtis and I had much more of a surface-based attraction.

"You said you just finished college. What did you study?"

"I just finished my Master's in kinesiology—sport science, basically."

"A _Master's_," Curtis said with amazement. "I didn't know I was sleeping with a master of something. So you must be older than I thought then. To have a Master's, I mean. Dammit, and I've been sleeping with you under the assumption you were a hot college chick!"

"I still am!" I protested, poking Curtis in the ribs. "I'm 25. I didn't go to college straight away because I was, uhh—" I trailed off, feeling my cheeks redden as my mind went to the thing that I had been keeping from Curtis and from, well, most people I met on a day-to-day basis.

"Coz you were what? Stripper? International super spy? If there are state secrets involved it's okay, your secrets are safe with me."

I laughed kind of nervously. If only it was something that cool, or edgy.

"I was, uhh, at a pro-wrestling school for a while, and then I was wrestling."

"No fuckin' way," Curtis said, grinning. "You're fucking with me!"

"Nah, you know what me fucking with you feels like. Pinky swear I'm telling the truth!"

"I knew there had to be a reason you've got such a killer body! What made you stop?"

"The short version of the story is that I was about to dive off the top rope when the ring collapsed. We had fuck all for soft landings on the outside. I landed on my shoulder—this one." I put my hand to my left shoulder, the one I wasn't lying on. "Did some very serious damage. Fact is I can't lift anything more than shoulder height anymore. Not with this arm anyway. A wrestler who can't lift someone is pretty fuckin' useless, wouldn't you say?"

"I guess…"

"Or even if I could get a moveset together that didn't involve me lifting anyone or putting too much pressure on my shoulder, the ultimate aim for every wannabe wrestler is to make it to the WWE. The WWE isn't going to hire someone pre-crippled, not when there are hundreds of people more able-bodied just begging for a chance. So I figured that dream was over. I enrolled at UNH two years nearly to the day that I signed up for wrestling school."

For once Curtis wasn't joking or laughing. He was listening intently.

"So that's my sad story of dreams foregone."

* * *

**Curtis's POV (3****rd**** person)**

* * *

Curtis lay propped up on one elbow next to Verity listening to her story of how she had had her wrestling career aspirations crushed by a couple of worn away connections or, more likely, shoddy workmanship by the kids putting the ring together. Her story took him back to his own days in the indie circuit, wrestling in tiny community halls and parks outdoors. Ever since Curtis had been a little kid, becoming a wrestler was all he had wanted to do with his life. If something like that had happened to him two years into his career, before he had the chance to go to OVW, and then to FCW—he didn't want to think about what he would have done. He'd already nearly given up on his dreams once, years and years back, when his best friend—well, he tried not to think about that either.

Sometimes the things that aren't the most obvious things about a person are the ones that are most telling about their character.

He rolled onto his back. "Fuckin' bummer, man."

"I know, but you asked," Verity said.

"Yeah, and I'm glad I did. Still fucking depressing though."

"You're telling me. Oh well, at least I can make a career out of something I have experience in, namely sports injuries."

Curtis respected that—how Verity had managed to take her career-ending injury in her stride and turn it into a positive. It was such a different character attribute than what he'd previously encountered in his ex-girlfriends and flings, numerous as they were, all of them so prone to throwing up their hands and acting the damsel, relying on their looks and other people to get what they wanted. Verity just gave off this intensely independent vibe, and he knew that if he hadn't run into her at that diner along the highway two nights ago that she would be on her way to the west coast, plugging forward, alone. Girls like that didn't need guys like him, not for anything—except sex, of course. Girls like Verity didn't exist. Not really.

They had long stopped talking. He was just looking at her… the pristine white sheet wrapped around her chest, the sleek lines of her shoulders and collarbones on display. Looking a bit closer, he could actually make out a long faint scar, on her left shoulder, the one she said she'd injured.

After that point the conversation had to inevitably turn to the fact that Curtis would be heading back on the road with the WWE crew that evening, and Verity had a roadtrip to complete, as well. After Verity had shared her story about her injury, she became a little quieter, a little less flirty, less challenging of Curtis's silly statements and jokes.

Sitting on the side of the bed, sheets still wrapped around her body, Verity announced that she had to leave Denver that day if she wanted to make Albuquerque by the evening, and, as an extension of that, LA and the coast as per her schedule. She spoke somewhat distantly about meeting friends there on a particular day.

Curtis walked Verity back to the 24-hour park where she had left her car for the last 36 hours and they drove back to park outside the Sheraton. Thirty-six hours. That's how long it had been? That had to be a record for a one-night-stand, one that technically lasted two nights. Verity tossed her suitcase into the trunk of her electric blue Honda Civic, Curtis noticed, heavily favouring her right arm to do all the work in lifting the heavy case. She had declined his offer to lift it, as he had expected she would.

"I've lugged this thing the whole way across the continent!" she joked. "Just because you've got bigger muscles doesn't mean I can't do it."

Silence punctuated everything as Verity set her car in order and was ready to head off. Curtis didn't know why, exactly. Verity kissed him one last time, her lips soft and sweet on his, and he thought very seriously for a second about snatching her key out of her hand and making her promise to follow him to Cheyenne for the next stop on the WWE tour.

Normally at this point, when the girl was about to leave, he'd be laying on the charm extra-thick, promising to call them later while at the same time emphasising the casual nature of the encounter. Why didn't he want to do this with Verity? The thing was, he actually did want to call her later. He just wasn't sure that she was the type that wanted to be called.

That was the catch, he thought, as the blue sedan drove off down the largely empty Denver street. For a girl who was so beautiful, so intelligent, so independent and above all so confident and sure of what her next step would be – a girl Curtis had never met the likes of before – she was always going to leave him like this. And like the street before him, he was shocked to find he felt empty.

* * *

**Verity's POV (1****st**** person)**

* * *

After I finished telling Curtis my incredibly embarrassing story of how I failed at becoming a professional wrestler, he kind of lay there, staring at me. I was suddenly conscious of the scar on my shoulder, where I'd had the surgery. After a while I just got up, shaking off Curtis's intense gaze. Well, what the fuck was I going to do now? Curtis was leaving that night. Crazy thoughts started running through my head, like deviating from my planned route for the rest of my trip and just following him to the next town? And then where? Fucking Montana? As if I hadn't already placed a burden on him by sharing his private hotel room the last two nights, the last thing the next big thing in the WWE needed was an obsessive groupie. Because that was—our whole relationship being predicated on mutual sexual attraction—essentially what I was.

"So I've gotta be in Albuquerque by tonight if I want to make the rest of my trip on schedule," I said, testing the waters.

"Oh, okay," Curtis said. Okay. There it was. I started to get up and organise my things.

Quite suddenly we had arrived in my little blue Honda outside the Sheraton. It was like I had floated the whole way, my brain on auto-pilot. I don't know if we talked at all along the way except for me to refuse Curtis's offer to lift my bags into my car. I declined. Picking up my suitcase with my right hand and supporting it with my left I heaved it into the trunk just as I had done twenty times before.

So, that was it. Everything was ready to go and still Curtis was just standing there, complacently, not quite looking me in the eye.

Just say something, I pleaded, internally. Say anything? I walked up to him and put my arms around his neck. He grinned that flirty grin of his. I sighed.

"I hope the rest of my trip is awesome as this bit was."

Curtis raised his eyebrows at me in such a way that I knew exactly what he meant.

"Okay, not awesome in exactly the same way maybe…"

I kissed him one last time, his soft lips like heaven on mine—like home. Again I waited for him to say something. I gave him every chance. Some small, ugly fangirlish part of me expected him to pull me into him roughly and beg me not to drive away, to stay with him on the road and to share his bed every night. But he didn't. Because I lived in the real world.

I drove away.

* * *

**Oooh, cliffhanger! Have Curtis and Verity really seen the last of each other? Thanks again to all who have reviewed - it really does give me the warm and fuzzies :D**


	11. Wish you were here

_We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl_

- 'Wish You Were Here', Pink Floyd

* * *

**Verity's POV**

* * *

_Warm breath on the back of my neck. A strong hand snaked around my mid-section. I closed my eyes to feel his lips come down on my neck, pulling me to him. I arched my back, feeling him become hard against my lower back._

_"Curtis," I murmured as he slipped a hand down the front of my pants._

_"How did you know it was me?"_

_"It's always you."_

_His fingers slipped down into my underwear, brushing against my folds. With his other hand he pulled my pants down to my thighs._

_I heard the metal-clank of his belt buckle and the zip of his jeans. He ran two fingers across my entrance._

_"Mm, is this for me?"_

_"Yes," I gasped as I felt him position himself behind me, just millimetres from the contact I so desired. Something in me burned from the pit of my stomach—I tried to push back into him but he held me still. Every inch of me needed him, my body ached._

_"Please…" I whimpered. As he pushed into me I cried out. He started to move slowly, but slowly was all it took. As his fingers once again brushed my clit I came undone, coming hard in waves, rocking my hips into his hand._

* * *

So, that's when I woke myself up. Alone. In my own bed. I groaned. This wasn't the first time I'd had an orgasm in my sleep. In the last 84 days (and counting) since I met this good-looking, funny guy named Johnny Curtis who inexplicably took an interest in me, that dream, or variations of it, had probably occurred five or six times. My brain just kept going back to it. I couldn't pull myself out.

Keeping with the numbers thing, it had also been 75 days since I pulled up to the driveway of my parents' home in Manchester, signifying the end to my two month road trip across America. It was also 52 days since I pulled out of my parents' driveway again and moved back to Durham, where I'd just spent the last four years of my life completing my education, and 49 days since I started work as a physiologist for the New Hampshire Wildcats. However, it had only been about 3 hours since I last received a text from Curtis.

To be honest, I blamed him for the fact that I had that dream just then. His habit of texting me periodically hadn't made it any easier to get on with my now boring life back in New Hampshire. Especially not since I still see the damn guy every week on Smackdown and Raw. It's one thing to look at a guy on TV and be like, "Yeah, I'd hit that in a heartbeat." It's completely another thing to have ACTUALLY HIT THAT, and then have them flaunting their body all over your TV screen. Oh, and then later receiving a slightly flirtatious text, winky faces and all.

I've been very sexually frustrated for about, oh, say, 82 days and counting.

Curtis had texted me this morning at about 4am because he's currently on the Pacific coast and thought it was only midnight.

**Hey do you do sports massages coz my back is killing me after tonight. Your hands would feel nice right about now ;)**

**Not at 4am I don't, asshole! Timezones…**

**Haha shit sorry text you in the morning**

I didn't reply because I'd fallen asleep as soon as I'd hit send. When I woke up aroung 7am I thought about replying but then I remembered that it was probably around 4am _his _time now. Although that would have been sweet revenge, WWE superstars need their beauty sleep.

It was about six hours later while I was on my lunch break that I received another text.

**Sorry about last night but I reeeeally wanted a massage :P**

**Hm, massage by distance. Switch your phone to vibrate and put it on your lower back. I will text you until the vibrations make you feel better.**

**You're so smart V**

I didn't get a chance to reply before another message came shortly after.

**Hey, put your phone down your pants and I'll text you until the vibrations make you feel better ;D**

**Not even remotely funny**

**Aww why not**

**My sexual frustration is no laughing matter and I blame you entirely**

I set my phone down on my lap and waited for a reply, smirking slightly. This cat-and-mouse game of casual, flirty text was one we'd been enjoying for two whole months now. Before Curtis, I don't recall ever grabbing for my phone instantly whenever it buzzed, not only because I was eager to read the text but because if the preview showed up on the screen and it was something dirty—well that's just embarassing really. I hadn't told my parents about who I'd encountered during my roadtrip. How could I? "Guess what, mom and dad, I had casual unprotected sex with a guy I met at a truck stop!" No thanks. I'd had to tell my dad how I managed to meet the Undertaker in Denver after I sent him the photo (being extra super careful not to send him the two photos immediately after I took that one). The story I came up with involved a chance meeting in a restaurant.

I was sitting outside on a bench, finishing off my sandwich. In New Hampshire you have to take advantage of the sunny days as they come. Then, suddenly, a shadow loomed over me.

"Hey, why are you eating alone?"

I looked up to find Mike, a towering 6 foot 4 linebacker for the New Hampshire Wildcats.

"Hey, Mike. Because it's a lovely day," I said, smiling. He took a seat next to me on the bench. I very casually turned my phone over, screen down. Mike was a very down-to-earth guy, for a footballer I guess, 22 years old and set to graduate at the end of the academic year. Pretty easy on the eyes, too, I guess you could say, in that generic 'I have no distinguishing features' Channing Tatum kind of way.

"Did you want to maybe go grab some coffee with me?" he asked. I had no reason to say no, really. I was sitting on a bench looking at my phone.

"Sure," I said, standing up. As I moved my phone into my front pocket I felt it buzz. Later, I told myself.

As we stood in line for coffee I took my phone out of my pocket and read Curtis's reply.

**Please accept my sincere apology. What are you up to?**

**Getting coffee with a dreamy college linebacker, jealous? ;D**

As I hit send the barista called out my name. We collected our coffee and sat down at a table. My phone buzzed again a moment later.

**You're so cruel to me**

"So are you glad to be back at UNH?" Mike asked.

"I guess. It's a good place to start."

"You want to go some place else eventually?"

"Yeah, I think I'd just like to travel a hell of a lot more," I said. "While I'm young and unattached."

Mike laughed and sipped his coffee.

"Where do you want to go once you graduate?" I asked.

"I'd love to play for the Pats, but to be realistic, I'm not the best linebacker in the world. I'd be happy to get a coaching gig at a highschool or something."

I nodded. "That's probably the most realistic assessment I've ever heard from an athlete around here."

Mike laughed. "So did you, I don't know, want to maybe go out for a drink or something tonight?"

I stared blankly down at my coffee. Ah, crap.

"I don't know if I can," I said, working out what I was going to say as the words came out of my mouth. It being a Friday, my plans tonight were to sit down and watch Smackdown, featuring you-know-who. "I was going to go home for the weekend and see my parents."

That'll do.

"Oh, okay, cool, maybe next week or some other time."

"Yeah maybe," I said, smiling. Mike wasn't the first college athlete to ask the new, young 20-something physio out for a drink, or dinner. Since I had to keep working with them though, putting my hands on their sore joints and muscles, it was important to make the rejections as friendly as possible. As long as they never brought it up again, it didn't contribute too much to any awkwardness. Damn college boys.

* * *

Later that evening, while Mike I'm sure and his other football buddies went out and enjoyed themselves at whatever bar was popular these day, I was holed up in my little apartment getting ready for Smackdown to come on. I poured myself my third glass of red wine for the night, just a little something to wind down at the end of the week. Mike had asked me if I wanted to have a drink tonight, which I actually did—just not with him, I guess. At 7:55pm my phone buzzed, again.

**Getting ready for your Fandango fix tonight?**

**Yes! And you'll be happy to hear I turned down a drink with Dreamy McCollege-Linebackerson tonight so I can drink alone instead watching Smackdown :P**

The intro music for Smackdown started up. I emptied my third glass of wine and poured a fourth. I was halfway into the second match of the night when I realised my phone had buzzed a little while ago.

**I'm flattered but also that is really sad. Pretty girls like you need to get laid ;D**

I sighed into my wine glass and took a large sip before texting back.

**Oh I'd like to but I think you did something to my brain. I'm 100% Curtisexual now**

As I watched the little send bar complete I instantly regretted that statement, even though it was mostly accurate. That didn't come off desperate at _all_. Stupid truth elixir wine.

**It's a terrible affliction. There is no cure**

I laughed at Curtis's text and couldn't think of an immediate reply, so I let it sit there and turned my attention back to the TV, just as that familiar swirl of music started to play. I groaned, almost believing what Curtis had said as Fandango gyrated his way to centrestage. There was no cure for this affliction.


	12. Showdown

_Well it's been such a long time coming_

_I thought you'd understand_

- 'Showdown', Pendulum

* * *

102 days and counting since fateful highway encounter. 59 days working for the Wildcats. Three and a half days since Curtis last texted me.

I'm not counting, I swear.

It was 11:47pm on a Tuesday night when my phone rang and scared me so much I nearly fell off the bed.

Curtis calling? What the hell. It's been 100 days and he hasn't yet deigned to call me for any reason.

"Hello?"

"Hey sexy, I almost forgot what your voice sounded like."

"I almost forgot you talk like a normal person when you're not on TV."

Curtis laughed down the phone line. "Yeah... Acting."

"What motivated you to call me this fine evening?"

"Couple things..." he trailed off.

"Like what?"

"Okay, first of all, make sure you watch Smackdown this week—"

"You know I always do," I interrupted.

"You're gonna be fuckin' surprised!"

"Okay," I laughed.

"The other reason I called is I get some time off in three weeks. I'm gonna use it to visit my family up in Maine, but there's this chick who lives just over the border and I kind of want to see her again. Do you think she'd let me crash at hers?"

"Over the border? Like Canada?" I teased.

"Nah the only other place Maine shares a border with."

"Oh… hey I live there! Yeah, you want to come visit me? You can have the couch, or the floor…" This was my revenge in part for him not texting me these last three days.

"I forgot how incredibly fucking funny you are."

* * *

That Friday I tuned into Smackdown with Curtis's words flashing through my memory. _You're gonna be fuckin' surprised…_

Near the beginning of the show Michael Cole announced that tonight's event would feature an Intercontinental Championship match between Wade Barrett and, well, none other than Fandango. I wondered what that match would have in store...

It was the second to last match. The champion, Barrett, came out first, to a chorus of boos. When Fandango came out, the crowd fell into its own rendition of his entrance music. In fact, come to think of it, I couldn't remember any crowd in the last six or seven weeks that hadn't Fandangoed. For the last couple of weeks he'd brought his brunette dancer out with him but tonight I noticed it was Summer Rae again. They seemed pretty interchangeable at this point. I made a mental note to ask Curtis when I next spoke to him why they kept changing his dancers around.

Fandango struck a pose as the referee rang the bell for the match to start. They started off locking horns and then Barrett delivered a few quick blows to Fandango's chest and side. Even though Fandango was quick to move out of the path of some of his moves, Barrett kept pummelling him. After a number of elbows in the corner and a quick backbreaker, Barrett went for an early pin, but Fandango kicked out shortly after 2. Eventually Fandango slid to the outside of the ring to recover, glaring up at Barrett, holding his ribs. As the ref yelled at Fandango to get back inside the ring, Barrett decided that he was going to take that matter into his own hands, sliding out of the ring himself. As Barrett went to grab him, Fandango delivered a swift kick to the mid-section and then propelled Barrett into the ringpost, his shoulder colliding with the unforgiving steel. Fandango picked Barrett up and rolled him into the ring, and then himself climbed onto the apron and up to the top rope. With Barrett lying prone on the mat, Fandango delivered his signature leg drop and went for the pin. Oh man, was this the surprise? Was he going to win the IC title tonight?

1... 2... Barrett kicked out at the last moment! Fandango looked up at the ref, anger and intensity flickering in his eyes. He pummelled Barrett a few times on the mat with his forearms before dragging him to his feet, readying him for his finisher, the swinging reverse STO. I briefly wondered if they were ever going to come up with a clever dance-related name for that one. Just as Fandango was about to swing him face first into the mat, Barrett elbowed Fandango in the ribs and tried to move him into the position for the Souvenir. As Fandango was forcibly rolled out and yanked back towards Barrett, he ducked under Barrett's oncoming elbow. Barrett spun around and Fandango jumped six feet in the air and dropkicked Barrett in the face. Barrett fell back into the ropes as Fandango quickly jumped to his feet again. Barrett's momentum from the ropes carried him forward, right into Fandango's waiting arms as he applied the swinging reverse STO and this time executed it, slamming Barrett into the mat. He quickly rolled Barrett over and covered him.

1... 2... 3! It was over—new IC champ! Barrett rolled out of the ring, his arms over his head, and the ref went to go fetch Fandango his belt. Still panting hard, he took it in his hand and stroked it, his mouth hanging open, a devilish expression on his face. Summer Rae joined him in the ring and he handed the belt to her. She went to the middle of the ring and slid into her splits position, holding the belt up so that it hovered in front of Fanango's midsection. He struck his pose one last time, then took the belt from Summer Rae and helped her to her feet. Together they strutted up the ramp, victorious.

Oh, how I wished I could have been there to celebrate with Curtis after that night—of course, it had actually taken place on Tuesday when they taped the show, which, come to think of it, was the night Curtis had called me telling me to tune in for the show this week. He must have called me straight after the show. I grabbed my phone from the coffee table and sent a text to Curtis.

**Why didn't you tell me you were gonna win the freakin IC title on Smackdown? So happy for youuu**

The commercials came on and I sat there, shaking my head in disbelief. Simply as a fan of the guy as a wrestler I was elated. He'd worked so hard, for so many years. It had all paid off. My phone buzzed with Curtis's reply.

**Spoilers! Still keen to have the current reigning IC champion over your house in a couple weeks?**

**Only if you wear the belt at all times, even when naked. Actually no especially when naked!**

**Oh V you only want me for my sweet body don't you**

**You know it**


	13. I Caught Fire

_I'm melting in your eyes  
Like my first time that I caught fire  
Just stay with me, lay with me_

- 'I Caught Fire', The Used

* * *

The day after the Smackdown bombshell Curtis sent me a text to confirm that he'd be getting a flight into Portland, Maine two weeks from Wednesday and then after a couple of days there he'd drive down to Durham. Once I knew his date of arrival, the days dragged on like you wouldn't believe. You know when you're counting down the days until you go on a holiday or something? It was like that. My shifts at work just wouldn't end, and then when I got home at the end of the day, even boiling an egg seemed to take an eternity.

I got a message from Curtis Wednesday morning telling me he'd landed in Maine, and then in the evening he sent another.

**See you tomorrow night?**

**Heck yes**

I texted him my address and told him not to get here before 5:30 because I wouldn't be home from work until then.

**I'll bring dinner**

That was the last thing I received from Curtis before Thursday evening.

* * *

The buzzer rang a little after 7pm. I sprang from the couch and then froze. Keep your goddamn cool, V. I'd spent the night before doing a bit of a tidy, putting all my washing away, dirty dishes, etc. I don't know why I felt that need to do that. It was just something my mom had always made us do before we had visitors over. I walked much more casually to the front door and pressed the button to allow Curtis to come into the building and up to my place on the first floor. I opened the door to my apartment and leaned against the doorframe, waiting for Curtis's head to appear in the stairwell, all the while trying to keep a stupid big goofy grin off my face.

I hadn't dressed up for the occasion. I wore my hair up in a ponytail to work but I took it down once I got home and brushed it through. It had grown a bit since the time of my road trip and now hung past my shoulderblades down to the middle of my back in its natural wavy formation. I changed from my work button-up and slacks to a plain white scoop-neck t-shirt that fell just past my butt and three-quarter length black leggings. One thing Curtis was going to learn about me these next few days was that I don't dress up unless I absolutely, definitely have to.

I heard him for before I saw him—the loud sounds of someone deciding to run up the stairs instead of walking like a normal person.

"Hey, slow it down Jesse Owens," I said as Curtis bounded up the stairs, and I realised he was taking them two at a time. Bloody athletic show-off.

"Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes," he said, reaching the top. He didn't even stop to take a couple deep breaths. He was carrying a duffel bag in one hand and a bag of Chinese take-away in the other. "I hope you like spring rolls because they gave me a LOT. The old Chinese lady said I was 'very handsome man'."

He walked into my apartment and I followed after, shutting the door behind me. I turned around to find Curtis's duffel bag on the floor in the hallway along with the Chinese, and him standing in front of me. He placed both hands on my hips and pulled me in close.

"Do I get a proper hello?" he said in a low voice.

"Hello," I murmured back. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip and my knees went weak. It had been much, much too long… He leaned in close and pressed his lips to mine, still at first and then gently coaxing my lips open, slowly rolling his tongue over mine. I whimpered into the kiss, my hands shooting up to the back of his neck and pulling him down to me as I pushed up onto my tiptoes, desperate for more contact. Guiding my body with his hands on my hips he pinned me to the wall, my back slamming against it hard as our bodies came crashing together. He picked up my left leg and wrapped it around him. I held on tightly around his neck as he picked up the other one and then he was wrapped in me, breathing hard, assaulting my lips and my neck. I never wanted to let go.

Suddenly he pulled back, his mouth hanging open and hair all in his eyes. Sex personified. I tried to pull him back into the kiss as he dropped me down back to my feet.

"Our dinner's going to go cold."

I looked at the paper bag on the floor. My stomach conspired against me and growled.

"Okay, let's eat," I conceded, but even as I walked to the kitchen to grab some cutlery I could feel within me an aching, empty need that had been reactivated the moment Curtis put his hands on me.

Curtis followed me into the kitchen with the bag of take-away in his hand and set it down on the countertop. I pulled a couple of plates out of the cupboard. I hadn't gotten around to buying a dining table for my apartment yet—the number of people I usually had over for dinner approximated zero—so we sat on the couch in front of the coffee table. As Curtis ate he kept jerking his head around, looking at the wall décor in the lounge, my shelves of books, videos, CDs and DVDs. He gestured with his fork over to one of my DVD shelves.

"How many Simpsons boxsets do you have?" he asked incredulously.

"Like the first 14 seasons I think. Before they started getting kinda bad."

Curtis snorted into his Mongolian beef.

"I'd give you the tour of the place but this is pretty much it, except my bedroom."

"Save that for later," he said, winking. Oh boy, what had I got myself into here?

My plan for after dinner was to just jump Curtis straight away, finish what we started in the hallway, but quite frankly I was too full. Vomiting probably kills a boner pretty fast no matter how much you want it. I took all of the leftovers and cutlery stuff back into the kitchen while Curtis stretched out on the couch.

"I'm putting on one of your Simpsons DVDs," he called from the lounge.

"Okay," I called back. "Want a drink?"

"Whaddaya got?"

"Diet Coke, water, juice…"

"Diet Coke please!"

I grabbed two cans out of the fridge and went back into the lounge where Curtis had pretty quickly figured out how to operate my TV and DVD player and Bart Simpson was now writing 'I will never win an Emmy' on the chalkboard.

"What season is this?" I asked, putting our Cokes on the coffee table and sitting down on the couch. Tucking my legs under me, the couch seemed a lot smaller than it usually did with its normal occupancy of one.

"Five. This is the Be Sharps episode."

"A man after my own heart," I sighed, cracking open my drink can.

About halfway into the second episode I found myself creeping over to Curtis's side of the couch. He lifted his arm up and pulled me the rest of way into him so that my head rested neatly on his shoulder, my arm naturally draping across his stomach. I started gently tracing my hand over his shirt, up and down his stomach. He let out an encouraging noise and when I looked up at him he moved his head down to kiss me, his mouth sweet from the Diet Coke we'd consumed. I slipped my hand under the fabric of his shirt to connect with his warm skin, unbelievably smooth and hard. I could count every abdominal muscle, and I endeavored to. Something was happening on the TV—Sideshow Bob was singing HMS Pinafore. Curtis pulled me onto his lap suddenly, my legs either side of his. He ran his hands up my sides, my t-shirt riding up slightly, revealing a few inches of my stomach. I flushed all over.

"We're missing the episode," I said, shuddering as he sat forward from the couch to catch my earlobe in his mouth. His hands were everywhere—how could they be everywhere at once?

"Like we both haven't seen this episode 50 times," he muttered, his hands venturing under my shirt, playing with the waistline of my leggings. He had a point. I crushed my lips to his, all my urgency returning from when he'd first walked in my door. I needed him undressed. Now. Sooner than now. I pulled at the bottom of his shirt and raised it up—he pulled it off the rest of the way and threw it aside.

"Mmm, I've missed you," I muttered into Curtis's neck, kissing my way down his chest.

"Are you talking about me or my body right now?"

I paused for a second. "You…" I said, which was true, I guess, in a sense.

"You hesitated!" Curtis laughed, slapping me hard on the ass. I yelped.

"Ow! Fucking shut up and help me undo your belt," I whined, desperately fighting against a clasp I hadn't really come across before.

"My belt…" Curtis looked up at me, a big excited smile on his face. "My belt! Come on, get off, I have to show you…"

I rolled off to the side, a look of frustration and annoyance plastered across my face. Curtis jumped up off the couch and went to his duffel bag in the hall. I twisted my body around to look over the back of the couch as Curtis pulled out—holy shit, just the actual, real-life Intercontinental Championship.

"Motherfucker!" I screamed.

Curtis just laughed and wrapped it around his waist, the white leather of the belt contrasting with his tanned skin.

"Looks good on you, man," I said as he walked over. "I mean personally I prefer the classic oval belt…"

"You want to have a look?" Curtis reached around to his back and took the belt off, then handed it to me. It was heavy—not _too _heavy, but it had a good weightiness to it, enough to make it look and feel important. I ran my hand across the gold plate, admiring the detail.

"Damn."

"I know, right?" Curtis had this proud look on his face, enjoying me freaking out over the belt. The Simpsons squawked on in the background, completely forgotten.

* * *

There are those people you just have a connection with, where the mention of one little thing can turn into an hours long conversation. That was Curtis and me tonight, with the Intercontinental Championship resting in my lap, talking about our favorite feuds, favorite wrestlers, favorite matches like two enthusiastic kids. We argued over who won King of the Ring in '98. I stood up and marched over to my shelf of VHS tapes and pulled out the relevant tape. I put the tape in and we fastforwarded to the match, where we realised that Ken Shamrock had won that year.

"Ugh, no wonder we didn't remember," I said.

"Yeah, especially considering the match that comes after this."

1998. Hell in a Cell. Mankind v Undertaker.

"No kidding." We watched the match through to the end.

Suddenly it was close to 1am, something I only noticed when I felt my eyes getting very tired. Curtis was still yammering on about the origins of the European Championship. I leaned across the couch and stopped him mid-sentence by pressing my lips to his, making sure to plant my hand up high on his inner thigh.

"Come to bed now," I said softly, taking his hand in mine.

"Lead the way."

* * *

**Boy, I struggled with this reunion chapter! Next one is in progress and I am also currently mapping out a longer story arc. It can't be sunshine and roses forever ;D**

**So grateful for the support I've received so far!**


	14. Only ones who know

**Just another short update-this is really more like chapter 13 part 2.**

* * *

I was so done with talking. Silently I led Curtis by the hand to my bedroom. I stopped at the foot of the bed and turned to face him. He put his hands to the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head, revealing my white bra. He brought his arm around and unhooked that too, tossing it to the floor. He dropped to his knees and placed a few small kisses along my stomach. My body tensed. He hooked his fingers under the elastic of my leggings and pulled them and my underwear down together. I stepped out of them and then I was standing there summarily undressed, completely exposed in Curtis's presence. Wordlessly he unfastened his belt and dropped his pants to the floor, his shirt done away with earlier in the night.

Tension flooded through my body and the half a foot distance between us felt like a thousand miles. He made the first move, ducking slightly to press his lips to mine, his hands cupping my face so gently—I melted into his kiss. I guided him down to the bed and positioned myself under him, wrapping my legs around his waist. I reached down and felt him already hard. Breathing in sharply he pushed himself into my hand. I felt his tip brush against my small bundle of nerves and it sent a shiver up my spine.

"Waited so long for this," he mumbled against my neck. As he slipped into me I felt heat like molten lava rising from my core. His first few thrusts were agonizingly gentle as he reacclimatised himself to being inside me, slightly animal noises coming from his parted lips. I tightened my arms around him and moved my hips up to meet his thrusts as he increased his pace. He let out a low growl as he was able to move more deeply inside of me. We moved like that for an eternity—an unbearably slow build-up, just feeding off one another's moans and periodically coming together for sloppy kisses filled with gasps for air. When we both finally came it felt like I was toppling down a mountain I'd taken weeks to climb, the adrenaline rushing through me as I crashed back to earth. We fell asleep without so much as saying a word.

* * *

My alarm jolted me awake at 7:30am sharp. I rolled over and hit snooze and then lay on my back and closed my eyes again, feeling something uncomfortable under my neck. Curtis's arm. I felt him stir and roll onto his side to face me, his other arm moving across my body. Resting his head on my pillow next to me he placed the softest kiss on my cheek, and when I turned into him he kissed me again this time on the lips, just as soft.

"Morning," he said quietly, our lips still touching. I kissed him again, rolling onto my side, pressing my body to his. My alarm went off again, even though I swore it had only been 45 seconds—it had actually been 10 minutes. I groaned.

"I have to get up for work now," I said, trying to roll onto my back. With Curtis's arm around me I couldn't unless he let me, and he wasn't letting me.

"No," he said simply. "Stay here."

"Unlike some people I have to work every day for a living."

"Should have thought of that before you let me into your bed."

Curtis pulled me in tighter, sending tingles down my spine as I recalled we were both still naked under the sheets. Despite the events of last night he still had his morning erection which was currently pressing into my stomach. Staying in bed was becoming a more tempting option second by second as he trailed his hand under the covers down the curve of my hip. His hand slipped in between my legs, the sensation making me squeeze my eyes shut and at the same time involuntarily open my legs. Okay, maybe it was a little voluntary.

"Coz you can't take one day off?" Curtis said, toying with me with his fingers, watching as I reacted to every ministration.

"Mmm—maybe I am a bit under the weather," I gasped, hoisting one leg over Curtis's side to give him better access.

"Good girl," he purred, rolling me on top of him.

* * *

You know how, with the days leading up to a vacation, they go so slowly, but then when you're actually on vacation, the time flies by and you think you hardly had a chance to enjoy yourself before you have to go back to the real world again. That's how Saturday afternoon rolled around for me when Curtis said he had to drive back to Maine for a late night flight back to his place in Tampa.

"You still live in Tampa? But you haven't been on NXT in forever."

"Yeah, but it's fuckin' warmer there."

"True…"

We were sitting in my lounge room, some random wrestling tape playing on the TV that Curtis said he wanted to see that he didn't have himself, but I couldn't say he was really paying attention. He was looking at the floor. He was looking at my bookshelf again. He was looking anywhere but at me. I was sensing quite a lot of déjà vu. Were we going to part ways again without, you know, talking? The first time I understood—I was just a roadside fling. But when a guy comes all the way to New freakin' Hampshire just to see you? I needed at least a few things cleared up.

"So, uhh, what happens from here on out?"

He looked at me like he didn't understand.

"I mean, when's your next trip to Maine?"

"Oh… I don't know."

"I guess what I'm trying to ask is, this—us—has happened more than once now. Would you want it to happen again?"

"I do," he said, uncertainty in voice. "But my job is to travel. You're..."

"I'm here."

"Yeah."

"Yeah..."

"I'd like to see you again."

"Okay."

"I just don't know how to make that work."

"Me either."

"Maybe we just have to let it play out."

He drove off in the direction of the border leaving me perhaps more confused than I've ever been. I wasn't even disappointed—I entertained no fantasies about him just making me his long-distance girlfriend or something. It wouldn't have been fair to either of us to lay claim to any kind of exclusive relationship. Still, I knew from experience the fact that Curtis had left the door ajar, so to speak, on the way out was going to make it hard for me to let anyone else in. That's just the way it works with guys like him—the ones you want like crazy for no logical reason, that pop up in your mind with absolutely no warning, usually saying or doing something totally inappropriate and distracting. A simple 'goodbye now and forever' would have better, more clean cut. Later that night I got a text that simply read:

**Hey sexy. Miss me yet**

So, things were clear as mud.


	15. Waiting for my real life to begin

_Any minute now my ship is coming in_  
_I'll keep checking the horizon_  
_And I'll check my machine_  
_There's sure to be that call_  
_It's gonna happen soon_  
_Soon_  
_Oh, so very soon_

- 'Waiting For My Real Life To Begin', Colin Hay

* * *

Back to counting days—27 to be precise since Curtis came to visit. I was lucky the day he made me miss work was a Friday so I could pretend I had the weekend to recover from my supposed 'illness'. To my surprise, I'd coped better than I thought once he was gone. If anything, I was much more preoccupied with my job and career than I was with Curtis, whose occasional texts really just served to brighten my day if and when they came. Still, I often found myself fidgety and frustrated day-to-day. Generally I love my job, I really do, but going to the same place every single day, waking up at the same time, coming home to the same damn house and staring at the ceiling was starting to get to me, big time. I missed being out on the road, driving from town to town, meeting different people everywhere I went, sleeping in different beds under different ceilings under different skies. That was something I'd always enjoyed wrestling around the New England area, even when everyone else I worked with seemed to hate it. Living and working in a small university town, I got into such a routine I could actually predict when the birds were going to tweet outside my window, when the bus was going to roll past on the street below, when my neighbors upstairs would argue. I could predict _everything_.

I resolved that within the next few months I would begin looking for a new job, something that preferably wasn't in the New Hampshire area. If I could get to a big city like Boston or Philadelphia, that would just be amazing. I didn't mind if I was helping old people fix their knees or massaging the calves of jacked up footballers. Part of me felt bad for wanting to leave a place that had been good enough to give me my first shot at a career, but they had to know I wouldn't be sticking around forever. Maybe in the next couple of weeks I'd ask a couple of people I worked under for a good work reference.

* * *

After I got off work on Thursday night I headed straight for the gym, spent about an hour there and was home by about 7. My phone rang maybe fifteen minutes after I got through the door, the ringtone (ChaChaLaLa) letting me know that it was someone special calling. After some badgering on Friday night four weeks ago, Curtis had convinced me to buy the ringtone for when he called me. It was the first time it had ever gone off.

"Hey you," I said, kicking off my gym shoes.

"Hi."

"You okay? Why'd you call me?"

"Oh… Yeah, I'm fine, I just wanted to, I guess. It's been a while."

"Yeah, you're telling me. Where are you right now?"

"Austin, Texas."

"Nice city."

"It's alright. What are you doing?"

"I just got home from work and the gym about 15 minutes ago."

"Awesome, so you're all hot and sweaty?"

"Not really," I said, laughing.

"What do you wear to the gym?"

"You basically just asked me 'what are you wearing'."

"Maybe."

"I wear knee-length leggings and a crop top. Happy?"

"Yeah, I got a good mental picture now."

I laughed, then there was a few seconds of radio silence.

"How is your work going, by the way? Happy still?"

I sighed. "Yeah, it's fine."

"Alright, it's just that—how would you feel if there was a job at WWE for you? A travelling one."

If this phone weren't so damn expensive I would have thrown it across the room.

"What kind of job?" I said calmly.

"Your sports medicine kind of stuff, assisting our ringside doctors. You still have to apply and interview but it's not being widely advertised so… you're on the inside, I guess."

"I—wow, Curtis, you have no idea what this means to me. Thank you."

* * *

At 9am I dressed up in what I like to call my 'interview outfit'—a black pencil skirt and silk dress shirt that look very professional but are actually very uncomfortable—and made my way to WWE HQ in Stamford, Connecticut. I drove down the night before and stayed in a hotel I really couldn't afford, but since it was just for one night I figured, why not? I really wanted this job—I thought I better act like it.

Walking into the lobby I first came face to face with a gigantic statue, which I realised was of Andre the Giant, hence the gigantic. They also had a mould of his hand prints, which I placed my hands into. The size difference was enormous. I was a bit young to have been able to watch Andre in his prime, but my dad had shown me lots of tapes. With my hand in the mould and looking up at the statue I felt in awe—my heart started beating faster. I let out a deep breath. Stupid Verity, working yourself before the most important interview of your life to date. I continued towards the reception desk.

"Hi, I have an interview at 10am?" I said.

"Sure, and your name?" the receptionist replied.

"Verity Whelan."

"That's no problem, they're expecting you. Take the elevator to the second floor, turn left, conference room B."

"Thanks." That was a lot of information to take in for a nervous person. Second floor, left, room B. Level 2, turn left, conference room B. I kept repeating to myself in slightly different terms, hoping it wouldn't all go blank in my mind. I pressed the upward arrow button, making it glow faint blue. The LED screen above the door read 10, and then started counting down until it said G. The wide metallic doors opened to reveal a couple of people inside, and I instinctively stepped aside to let them out before going in myself. As they exited the elevator I noticed one of the people inside had a very commanding and dignified presence—I couldn't say exactly why—with a moulded crop of grey and white hair. Sweet Jesus, that was Vince McMahon. I tried to hide the little involuntary jolt my body did, along with the look of shock on my face, as if it wasn't to be expected that Vince fucking McMahon would be at his own company headquarters. I don't think I hid it that well.

"Good morning," he said with a small smile, nodding in my direction.

"G-good morning, sir," I replied, my whole body stiffening up as if I was a soldier and a four star general just walked by. I scurried into the empty elevator and pressed the button—which damn button? Level 2, turn left, conference room B. Hit the 2, Verity! I jammed the button with my finger and the doors eventually closed. I let out a massive breath and put my hands on the mirrored wall of the elevator compartment to steady myself. Jesus, if I wasn't in the right state of mind for this interview before, I sure as hell wasn't now. _Vince McMahon_! I took in a number of slow, deep breaths and shook everything clear in my head. I looked in the mirror. Game face, girl. Go hard or go home.

* * *

The interview panel was comprised of two HR people and a man who introduced himself as Dr. Amman, WWE's senior ringside physician. The HR people asked me a bunch of generic sort of questions—how do you work in teams? What are your strengths? What are your weaknesses? With these sorts of questions you basically have to lie. HR people don't want to hear that you work in teams effectively, but begrudingly. They want to hear that you just _love_ working in teams and you do your absolute best work in teams—oh, but they also want you to work best independently. They don't want to hear about your weakesses—they want more of your strengths, disguised as weaknesses. I told them sometimes I was too forthright, that I always told the truth, even when it was unpalatable. I kept the irony to myself. Then Dr. Amman had a few more specific questions.

"I was very interested in your application letter, Ms Whelan, you spoke of your own experience in the wrestling business and experience with injury. Could you talk about that for a few minutes?"

"Sure. Well, I actually trained as a wrestler up in New Hampshire. I was always a huge wrestling fan—my dad's influence, although he didn't really want me to actually try to do it myself, I don't think! Anyway, I was wrestling for a while and then one match the ring collapsed underneath us during a match. That kind of thing happens sometimes, but the thing was I was on the top turnbuckle when it went. I fell to the outside and landed square on my shoulder. Broken collarbone, all sorts of ligament damage—I had to have surgery. Even though that was over five years ago now I still have to do a lot of injury management. I can't lift anything heavy above shoulder height on this arm. So, obviously I couldn't wrestle anymore, although I tried at first. It took me a while, but in the end I realised that sometimes you just have to accept your body's limitations. I thought if I could help others prevent and treat their own sports injuries maybe it wouldn't have all been for nothing."

I took a deep breath. Dr Amman was sitting there nodding, listening. "I think I can do this job really well, Dr Amman, because I've lived it."

I walked out of WWE HQ and felt the fresh burst of Connecticut air. That was it—done. It was in the lap of the gods now as to whether I'd impressed them enough to get me the job.

* * *

A week and a half later I got a call from a blocked number.

"Hello, Verity speaking," I answered in my most professional tone. I had been doing this ever since the interview in anticipation of receiving the call.

"Verity, it's Dr. Amman, how are you doing?"

"I'm very well, thank you, and yourself?"

"I'm well, thank you. Verity, we'd like to inform you of the outcome of your application—"

Oh god. Way too formal. Here comes the spiel: we are sorry to say you have been unsuccessful...etc etc…future endeavors…

"—and we're very pleased to be able to offer you the position of assistant to the physicians here at WWE."

What.

"Oh my god, thank you—that's great," I stammered.

"Now, you were told that the role would require travelling and relocation."

"Yes."

"Great. I'm going to forward you onto Hilary now who's going to give you all the details you'll need for relocating to Stamford, your training and then your start date and travel schedule. Congratulations."

"Thank you, I look forward to working with you. Thank you."

Too many thank yous, V. You're a weirdo. Stop while you're ahead.

"Not a problem, I'll see you on the road."

With that, he transferred me to Hilary, who told me to sit down with a pen and paper and asked me if I was ready. Oh, I was ready.


	16. Long Road to Ruin

_Long road to ruin there in your eyes_  
_Under the cold streetlights_  
_No tomorrow, no dead end in sight_

-'Long Road to Ruin', Foo Fighters

* * *

It surprised me how fast I was able to completely uproot myself and relocate to Stamford. After giving my two weeks notice at work, I started to look for apartments in the area, found a nice one bedroom on the outskirts of town, inspected it, and began packing boxes of my stuff the next day. There was about a couple of weeks worth of training to do at WWE HQ before I was even allowed near a superstar or diva, things that mainly centred around health and safety, legal requirements, procedures and limitations and the like. I was briefed on my travel schedule, which was basically to go wherever there were people wrestling.

The scope of my work would be limited—obviously only qualified doctors could treat very serious injuries. I could, however, offer my services in working out and massaging sore and tweaked muscles, give advice on exercises to strengthen problem areas, apply and adjust strapping and tape, and of course assist Dr. Amman and the other physicians with whatever they needed help with. There was also a significant administrative component to the role—everyone knows doctors hate doing paperwork, so they get others to do it when they can.

I was barely settled in my new place before it was already time to pack a suitcase and get on the road to the location of the tour, which conveniently was in North Carolina this week. I was kind of glad I didn't have to drive halfway across the country, at least for my first trip. The company had organised a travel buddy for me, another girl who had been hired around the same time as me.

We met in the lobby of WWE HQ to get our final itineraries before heading out on the road. As I entered I saw her standing around awkwardly, looking suitably in awe of the place. I walked over. She was short, maybe 5'5" with shoes on, quite thin, with cropped black hair, red lipstick and pale skin. She was dressed very neatly in a black bodycon dress and maroon leggings. I thought of my own appearance and attire—just shy of 6 feet tall with curves and muscles, golden hair and a natural tan, wearing jeans, sneakers and a loose top. We were the godamn odd couple. Hopefully our personalities wouldn't be as different as our appearances.

"Hi," I said, approaching her. "I'm Verity, are you my travel buddy?"

"Yeah, I'm Claire—Claire Gosford. Nice to meet you!" she said. She had a perky, enthusiastic voice. "Here, I went and got my itinerary and info and I got yours, too. We can leave now if you want!"

"Oh, great, thanks—yeah, let's go."

* * *

We drove all day to reach Raleigh by nightfall—the show was on the next night, which gave us a little time to settle in. I can tell you, nothing will get you better acquainted with a person than sharing a car with them for nine hours. We took turns driving, found a bit of common ground in terms of what music to listen to (Foo Fighters were a mutually popular choice) and had ample time to chat, which I soon discovered Claire really liked to do.

Pretty quickly I learned that Claire was 28 years old, that she had a degree in communications and visual media, that she was from Indianapolis and that she was going to work with the production team. I recited my vital stats back to her.

"So how did you hear about your job? With WWE they're so hard to come by, they're so picky. I got mine through a few old contacts from where I used to work on this TV show. It was pretty crappy cable stuff, but it got me here!"

Oh boy… Exactly how much of your dirty laundry do you show a near total stranger?

"Well, this guy who works there told me about it…" I started. Most importantly I didn't want to sound like I was bragging, but I figured shit was going to become pretty apparent once I ran into Curtis anyway. What do you do? "A superstar, actually."

"A superstar?!" Claire repeated. "On the main roster? Which one?!"

"Uhh... Fandango?"

"Shut. Up. You know Fandango? He's so fricking sexy."

I laughed and smiled, looking out the window. "Yeah."

"So how do you know him? Is he a friend of yours?"

"That's kind of a difficult question to answer…" I said, smiling absent-mindedly while my mind wandered off to very nice places indeed. Claire's facial expression morphed into a mixture of shock, excitement and… was that a hint of admiration? Even though I'd only known Claire a few hours, she was the only person I'd told about Curtis and me. It felt good, actually, not to have the secret all to myself anymore.

"You, um—I'm sorry, this is totally inappropriate, you've only known me for like one day, but did you, uhh—"

"We did." No point denying it now. "On more than one occasion."

"Oh my gosh, you are like my idol."

I laughed. Claire was alright, especially if she was going to keep referring to me as her idol. My ego could get used to that.

* * *

We changed over drivers about halfway. I swapped into the driver's side and adjusted the mirror and the seat to accommodate my longer legs. That was going to get irritating after a while…

Thanks to a bit of lucky traffic we got to Raleigh a little after seven in the evening. Oh, and did I mention we were not only travel buddies but also roomies? We took the elevator up to the fifth floor entered the room, which contained twin beds, a small TV and a little writing desk. Standard hotel room fare.

"Oh good, at least there are two beds," Claire said, throwing her bag onto one of them. "I think I'm going to like driving and rooming with you but sharing a bed might be going just a little far!"

"Claire, my new best friend, I couldn't agree more."

"Yaaay, BFFLs!" she said, coming over and wrapping her arms around my mid-section. She pronounced BFFLS like 'biffels'. I accused her of being too old to use those sorts of words. She told me when you worked in the entertainment industry it was hard not to pick up some of the young people slang yourself.

"Alright, as long as it doesn't rub off on me. I'm a grown ass woman, you hear?" I joked.

Claire laughed. "Okay. Now, dinner?"

"Sure, but let's get changed first." Too many hours in a damn car just makes you need to change your clothes. It was a habit I picked up on my road trip, which, come to think of it, feels like forever ago now…

"Cool," Claire agreed. I opened up my bag and dug around for some clothes. When I looked up, Claire was already removing her dress. As I expected, wearing only her bra and leggings, she didn't have an extra ounce of fat on her, and frankly that went for muscle, too.

"Oh, hope you don't mind," she said, picking up a fresh tank top and tube skirt. "I figured if we're always going to be sharing rooms we may as well get used to changing in front of each other!"

"You make a good point." I shrugged and pulled off my t-shirt, too. If anyone had walked in right then, they might have had a hard time figuring out what was going on.

"Plus, as if you care about my skinny-ass body when you've seen Fandango in the buff. You have seen him in the buff, haven't you?"

I smiled down at the floor, embarassed. Claire was forthright in a way I could only ever dream of being. "I have."

"Let me state for the record again," Claire said. "You are my idol."

"Stoooop…" I complained. "You're going to give me a big head!"

Once dressed, we made our way out of our room, feeling luxurious carrying handbags instead of suitcases, and stepped into the elevator. I checked my phone as it ported us down to the ground floor, wondering if Curtis had maybe replied to my text that I was joining the tour in Raleigh tonight. As the doors opened onto the lobby, Claire gave a frightened little squeak and grabbed my arm. I looked up. Three men were waiting to get into the elevator. One of them flashed me a devastating smile. My heart skipped three, maybe four beats.

"Hey sexy," he said.

* * *

**Absolutely zero prizes for guessing who that is.**


	17. Don't stand so close to me

**Thanks once again for everyone's feedback!**

* * *

Curtis, Heath Slater and Stu AKA. Wade Barrett were waiting to get into the elevator as we got out.

"A little birdy told me you were going to be around tonight," Curtis said, winking slyly.

"That was me, you idiot," I laughed.

"Oh yeah…" He scratched his head and entered the elevator. I wanted to get back in there with him—I wanted to go up to Curtis's room right fucking then if I was going to be totally honest—but Claire was tugging on my arm.

"C'mon, dinner!" she said. Ugh, fine, alright.

By the end of dinner, it feels mean to say, but I was getting a little sick of Claire's chatter. Some people just need to know when to be silent, you know? It didn't help that a lot of what she was saying and asking me was related to a certain somebody who was preoccupying a large portion of my thoughts at that time. She also didn't appear to know his actual name—she kept calling him Fandango. How did you first meet him? Did you know straight away that you guys were gonna—? So many questions. My phone buzzed on the table. The preview message said 'from Curtis'.

"Who's Curtis?"

"That would be Fandango." Somebody didn't watch NXT.

"Oh… What did he say?"

The content of the message said:

**I'm rooming with Heath and Stu tonight so I'm afraid I can't give you the welcoming you properly deserve**

That wasn't what I told Claire, though. "Just asking what I'm up to," I said. To Curtis I sent back:

**You disappoint me Curty :( I have to deal with ms chatterbox all night?**

**Fraid so. I'll see you at the arena tomorrow**

* * *

Tomorrow was now today. Today was also my first day of actual work. Even though I'd been paid for the training I'd done, everyone knows your first day doesn't start until you actually do the things you're being employed to do. I sat down with Dr. Amman and he ran me through what he wanted me to do for that day. Paperwork, obviously. Other than that, he was instituting a new strapping tape policy that he wanted me to oversee.

The thing with wrestlers is they use a _lot_ of tape. They tape their wrists, hands, elbows, knees, ankles—any body part you like, they tape it. The WWE pays and supplies all tape as a basic piece of equipment, which the superstars sometimes have a tendency to abuse. We don't carry crates of it around, after all. Once someone takes it, it's gone. From now on, all tape was to be kept at a centralised location, which I was going to station. Under no circumstances was any superstar or diva to take a whole roll of tape with them.

Well, that was going to make me little miss popular on day one.

The taping station was in the medical area with all the other equipment, which was where I'd be located for basically the whole evening unless I got called to the locker rooms for something. If I ever wanted to meet and greet the whole Monday Night Raw roster, this was the best way to do it, I thought. First up on the card for the night was a tag match featuring the Rhodes Scholars and the Usos. Kind of a nothing match, but okay. Sandow turned up first—punctual like his character, I guessed.

"Hi," he said, smiling at me. "I haven't seen you here before."

"No, you haven't. I'm Verity," I said, holding out my hand. He shook it. "Physicians assistant. I also have to tell you about our new tape policy, if you haven't heard already?"

"I've been told, yeah."

"Oh, okay, great. You can tape away yourself if you like or I can help you. I'm trained, I promise. You could be my first client!"

Sandow chuckled. "Yeah, why not! I only have tape on my wrists so you can do my right hand if you want. It always looks shitty compared to the left."

"Well then, prepare yourself for the best right wrist taping of all time," I said, rubbing my hands together. I picked up the white tape and tossed it to him.

"I'm Aaron, by the way," he said. Aaron it was—I liked it better than Sandow, anyway.

"You know, you look really familiar," he said as I rolled the tape over his wrist.

I shrugged. "I know a couple of people here, I guess. Johnny Curtis mainly."

A look of recognition, and a smirk, spread across his face. "Oh yes, that'd be it."

What even just happened?

* * *

Everyone else was just fine with the tape policy. They chatted to me as they taped themselves up, some asked for help, some were very specific that they do it themselves. To each their own. Maybe half an hour into the show I experienced my first, I guess you could call, difficult client. I had already seen two members of the Shield that night. Black tape, of course. I taped Seth's wrists as he told me, "I've always been pretty bad at it honestly. It's better when someone else does it."

Roman had already seen to himself by the time I was done with Seth, so that was fine. No issues. The Shield were very nice gentlemen, I thought. Then Dean Ambrose walked in.

He nodded in my direction and went straight for the black tape, and picked up two rolls.

"Whoa, hey man, sorry, I can't let you take the tape."

He cocked his head and leant on the table in close proximity to me. I was surprised, coming face to face with him, how tall he really was—6'4" at a bare minimum. He had a slighter build than his Shield compatriots, which was probably what made him look smaller on TV, but in real life he was...well, maybe intimidating was the right word. I think it was the fact that he didn't smile.

"Budget cuts?" He tossed the tape up a few inches and caught it again. "You're telling me they can't afford me a few rolls of tape?"

"New policy starting tonight."

"Ah… policy." He was still tossing that tape up and down in his hand. In one swift movement I reached out and snatched it out of mid-air on its way back down to Dean's hand. He raised an eyebrow.

"You see, it's not the fact the company can't afford the tape." Now it was my turn. I tossed the tape up and down like he had done. "It's the fact that if you take a roll, and someone else takes a roll, and someone else takes a roll, then there's no more tape left."

"Order more tape."

"If you want to talk to logistics be my guest, but frankly they're a pretty weird bunch." It was true. When I tried to get my company laptop and some other equipment I'd need for the job from them, there were about 25 hoops to jump through and a very irritated-looking man with glasses to deal with.

"Look man, I'm gonna level with you," I said, putting the tape down on the table. "It's my first day. They told me not to let anyone take any tape. You don't want to make me screw up on my first day, do you?"

He shrugged, which was promising. Then he sighed and said, "Well if I have to tape up here you may as well help me. It's awkward as fuck."

"That's the spirit," I said, picking up the black tape and ripping the end away from the roll. He raised his eyebrows again and stuck out his hand. As I wound the tape around and over his thumb and palm, I got that weird familiar feeling of when you know someone's watching you. Not watching my hands, I mean, as I taped him up—that would be pretty normal. In fact it'd be weirder if he averted his gaze entirely. I was pretty sure he was looking at my face.

I finished my work, but he was still really close to me. Physical proximity like that makes me pretty uncomfortable unless you're about to kiss me or suplex me. I didn't know what Ambrose was planning to do. I shifted my weight back.

"Thanks," he said quietly. My body's flight-or-fight started to kick in and I readied myself for whatever he was planning on trying. I saw his arm shoot out to the side, and then he turned on his heels and briskly walked off. I realised he was holding a roll of tape between his fingers.

"Hey!" I called after him.

"Welcome to the WWE, honey," he said, spinning around, waving the tape around like a trophy. "I'm Dean Ambrose—and I always get what I want."

Good for fucking you, Ambrose. Next time don't stand so close to me. As I sat back down to the rest of my paperwork I realised I had goosebumps. What a thoroughly weird encounter. The heck did he want so much tape for anyways?

* * *

I was just getting stuck into my paperwork when darkness overcame me. Someone had their damn hands over my eyes.

"Guess who," the voice came.

"Uhh, are you male or female?" I knew exactly who it was, but teasing is fun.

"Male…"

"Are you a champion of some variety?"

"Fuck yeah."

"Are you wearing a totally gay outfit right now?"

A pause. "Yes…" He took his hands off my eyes. "You're no fun," Curtis protested.

"It was fun for me."

"Enjoying your first day?"

"Yeah, oh my gosh, everyone has been really cool about me being the tape nazi."

"Tape nazi?"

"Oh, you can't take any tape back with you now. Have to do it here. New rule."

"Eh," he shrugged. "I was gonna ask you to tape me up anyway. I suck at it."

He sat down in a chair and I went to work taping his wrists all up in white. When I was done he pulled me down onto him, my legs straddling his lap.

"Are you ready for your proper welcome?" he said, his lips an inch away from my ear. His hand pressed into the small of my back, causing me to arch into him.

"I've been ready for hours," I whispered back, draping my arms over his shoulders. He ran his hands up from my waist to my bra line, his thumbs pressing under the cups over my shirt. Heat from his hands coursed through the thin material to my skin. I reacted with a small whimper as he lightly nipped the corner of my jawbone. He brought a hand up to my head and gently pulled my hair, tilting my head back, exposing my neck. I let out a moan of pent up frustration as he trailed his tongue down the side of my throat—just teasing, tasting.

"As much as I enjoy the slow torture, we are a little pressed for time," I uttered, my fingers digging into Curtis's shoulders as he nibbled my collarbone.

"Impatient, are we? Careful what you wish for, sweetheart."

Releasing my hair, I moved my head forward and down to gaze at his lips, which were parted into a smirk. I wiped it off his face by crushing my mouth to his, immediately going for the bottom lip—I tugged on it how I know he likes and he growled into me. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me closer, and I felt his hardness. Right here, right now—it was so not an appropriate workplace practice, but the hell if I cared.

A knock at the door jerked us out of our little tryst. The door was open, so they were really just knocking out of politeness having just walked in on us.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I totally didn't know _you _were in here, Curtis," said Claire. I guess she was using his real name now. "I didn't mean to interrupt, just came to see how you were going, V."

If she didn't mean to interrupt, then why was she still standing in the fucking doorway? Ugh, okay. I got off of Curtis. I noticed he brought his hands to his lap straight away and crossed his legs. Smart move. He was trying so hard to look casual. It was adorable.

"Yeah, it's going really well," I said, walking over and busying myself with medical equipment.

"Awesome," Claire grinned. She came in and took a seat near Curtis who smiled politely. I looked over at them both: my new BFFL and my—not boyfriend. Lover? Fuckbuddy? None of the above? Labels defied whatever it was Curtis and I had going on, or at least I certainly didn't feel comfortable using any of them yet. Truth be told, however, my new BFFL was turning out to be a PIMA.

Pain.

In.

My.

Ass.

How's that for a new slang.


	18. Pretenders

**Claire's POV**

* * *

The more I got to know Verity Whelan, the more I began to realise that she didn't deserve someone like Curtis. Like today, for instance, the two of them were in the lobby, flirting like they always do. She's standing there and Curtis starts to put his hands on her hips and, get this, she's all like, "Everyone's watching, Curtis." It's like she doesn't want anyone to know they're together. Probably so she can keep flirting with all the other superstars she gets to feel up—oh, I mean _massage_. Sports massage. Right.

She clearly doesn't know how to hold onto a man, either. The first night we were on the tour and we went out to tea, I was trying to figure out what exactly she had going on with Curtis, but she was so _vague_. They weren't dating—she didn't even know if Curtis wanted to date her. Either she didn't know what was going on or she didn't want to tell me. She said she was too embarassed to even ask him what the deal was. Come on.

If I was her I would have marched straight up to Curtis and said 'either you make me your girlfriend and tell everyone we're dating or you don't get my body again, simple as that.' You've _got _to keep your men on a tight leash. Any girl who doesn't know that is liable to have theirs stolen away from them by someone who does.

* * *

**Dean's POV**

* * *

I walked out of the elevator with my bags and into the lobby. Standing over to the side I saw my old NXT buddy Johnny Curtis and—well if it wasn't that spunky chick with the strapping tape. Another person in the lobby also caught my eye. She was small and pale with a sour look on her face, staring daggers into the back of tape chick's head. I ambled over.

"Mind if I join you?" I said.

"Only if you don't annoy me," she replied. Well, alright, bitch.

"Who's the girl with my buddy Curtis over there?" I asked. In our encounter over the tape I had introduced myself as Dean Ambrose as I made my smooth exit. She hadn't told me her name.

"That's Verity. We travel and room together," she explain, but she said it with a slight sneer. Hm, alright. I know women can be catty together, especially when men are involved.

"What's their deal?"

"Nobody fucking knows. They flirt and they fuck but they're not 'in a relationship'." She did that little air quotes thing around the words 'in a relationship'. Well, that made things more interesting. The girl was hot—that was obvious. Much hotter than her little travel buddy, who might have registered a 7 on the Dean Ambrose scale of hotness if she'd care to smile once in a while. I also knew she had sass—the way she snatched the tape away from me when I argued with her. But she was shy, too. She'd blushed when I watched her tape my hands and stood right up close to her. Just the way I like it.

From the sounds of it, she wasn't too attached to Curtis. Maybe he wouldn't mind if I borrowed her for half an hour, or half a night, depending on how things went.

* * *

**Verity's POV**

* * *

"I'll see you in Atlanta, okay?" I said, playfully elbowing Curtis in the gut.

"Yeah sure thing," he replied. We stood there for a while. We don't really know how to do goodbyes very well, or talking at all really, apart from about wrestling.

Truth be told, I don't know if I really want to talk about it—whatever we've got going. People ask about it all the goddamn time. I don't know what to tell them and frankly it's embarassing because it feels like people think you can only legitimately spend time with a guy is if you're in a proper 'relationship' with them. Claire over there is looking at us right now—I can feel her in the back of my skull. She asks the most questions out of everyone.

Frankly, I'm not about to make the same mistake I did last time—when Curtis was in New Hampshire and I asked him about what the hell we were doing. I shouldn't have expected an answer from him then. I don't expect one now. I'm not the kind of girl to sink her claws into a guy, especially not someone as special as Curtis. Ugh—yeah, okay, I called him special. He's special to me. So what? He's also his own person and he doesn't need me telling him what to do or how to behave. I'm happy with how things are… Yeah, I'm fine with it.

I went over to Claire, who had been patiently waiting for me, and she grinned.

"Atlanta forward march!" she said. How can you get that excited about Atlanta, honestly? "What were you talking to Curtis about?"

See what I mean? Questions.

* * *

**Dean's POV**

* * *

_[Days later...]_

I was hobbling back to the locker room alone after my match. Reigns and Rollins had already been laid out by Team Hell No earlier so I had to fly solo for my match. God, I hate even fights. They're so boring. Anyway, I survived with my belt intact, but I took a few big bumps along the way. My back was aching pretty bad. I'd get that sorted later. First things first, back to the locker room so I could take off this annoying ass vest.

I walked in and a smirk spread across my face when I saw who was in there. My Shield partners, of course, but Roman was laying on the floor, a look of sheer pain across his face as a girl with golden hair falling across her face stretched out his hamstring. She was talking to him, asking him about the pain, what kind of pain it was, asking if he stretched often enough. Quite the little professional.

I closed the door behind me. I slumped into a chair, unzipped my uncomfortable vest and leant back. "Oh good, I'm glad you're here," I said. It was an honest statement. Nothing soothes a mind and an aching body like the sight of a pretty girl, especially one that was currently straining and bending over, pushing my buddy's leg up to his shoulder. "My back is killing me."

She whipped her head around. "Oh, hi. Tough match? I can do you right after I loosen up Mr Reigns' hammy here." She went back to work on Roman, or was it Mr Reigns? She could call me Mr Ambrose if she liked. I was fine to watch her 'til she was done. Seth was already set to leave for the night. That guy's the most injury-free guy I've met in my life, the asshole. Finally Roman got off the floor, rubbing the underside of his leg.

"Ah, that's much better. Thanks, V."

"No problems. Remember to stretch it again in the shower tonight and then in the morning, too."

"I will… We'll see you back at the hotel, man," he said in my direction. He and Seth started to head out the door, leaving me alone with… V.

"If you want your back done I don't have a table here for you to lie on. If you want to come back to medical with me..." Back to medical, with all the people? No thanks.

I shrugged. "I'm fine with the floor if it's all the same to you." I got up and shrugged off my vest, leaving me in just my black pants and my belt. She looked me up and down with a damn good poker face if I do say myself. I couldn't tell if she was drinking me in or trying to size me up for the massage.

"Well, alright, but it's not going to be very comfy."

Again I shrugged and dropped down to my knees and laid on the floor face down. "Show me what you got, honey."

"Okay, but you asked for it," she warned. Cute. She knelt down beside me and cracked her fingers over my back before she went to work. "Where does it hurt?"

"Ugh…everywhere. Mainly lower, I guess."

So that was where she started. Her hands were warm, which is probably a good thing for someone who touches other people for a living. She dug her thumbs into the small of my back and pressed outwards. I immediately felt the muscles in my back release, the tension flooding away. She kept kneading away, harder and harder. I wanted to close my eyes, damn the pain felt good, but I was trying to keeping a sneaky eye on her through the hair that was across my face. She let out a little grunt as she pushed down particularly hard on a sore spot. That was hot. I prayed I wouldn't get a hard on in my pants.

"You've got a knot here the size of my fist," she muttered, pressing and rolling her palms over me harder. The girl had magic hands.

"Hey I've seen you around with Johnny Curtis," I mentioned casually, turning my head to look up at her. "What's the deal—you his girl?"

The continuous movement of her hands stopped for a moment, jarred by the question, then she carried on like I hadn't said nothing.

"Just put your head back down or you'll twist something," she said, completely ignoring the question. I obliged. So what that Claire chick said was true, I guess. She had no idea what she was doing with that guy. Her hands were moving up my back now, working out all the soreness from my spine and upper back muscles. I groaned again—maybe overacting the pleasure factor a little bit.

"Fuck, you've got good hands. If I was Curtis I wouldn't be letting you dangle all out in the open like that. I'd fucking make you mine."

Another slight reaction in the way her hands moved. She said nothing, but I know she heard me.

"I think you're pretty much done there, Ambrose. Hope you feel better." Oh, no Mr Ambrose for me? Her voice was serious now. She took her hands off me. My back did feel remarkably better. I decided to test it out.

Before she could get to her feet I flipped over to my back and pulled her down to me, then rolled her over so that I was kneeling over her, flat on her back, my knee coming to rest between her legs. She had a look of half rage, half shock on her face, but she didn't slap me in the face straight away, so that was a plus.

"I mean what I say, Verity. Think about it." With that, I let her up, picked up my duffel and headed for the shower. You can't force these things upon people. You have to plant the seeds, then watch them grow, and usually soon enough they come to you.

Like I told her that first time we met: Dean Ambrose always gets what he wants.


	19. The go-between

**Verity's POV**

* * *

It seemed like we were leaving Atlanta as soon as we got there and on to the next town. I hopped into the passenger seat as Claire drove us away from the hotel and the arena, a million thoughts rushing through my head at once. I was still fuming about the stunt Ambrose had pulled after the show the other night, but some of his words kept playing in my head—the stuff about Curtis keeping me 'dangling' or whatever.

I mean, he had a point. Dangling was an accurate word for how I was feeling about the whole situation. Curtis was taking up far too much of my valuable brain space. Plus, I had barely even been able to see him lately. Alone, anyway. I understand you necessarily spend a lot of time with your travel buddy, and Claire has been a very constant presence, especially when Curtis seems to be around. She was talking right now—just yammering on about one thing or another.

Next stop on the tour was Birmingham in good old Alabama. As I sat in the car my legs started to get fidgety. The rigorous WWE travel schedule hadn't left me with much time to hit the gym lately. How on earth to the actual superstars manage to keep in shape?! Claire doesn't really work out that often, so maybe I can get some alone time there.

* * *

At the hotel in Birmingham I started to change into my usual workout garb. I grabbed my gym bag and made my way out into the hallway. Then, behind me, I heard the squeaky familiar voice: "Wait up, V!"

I swung around and Claire was chasing after me, dressed in what I guess you could call workout gear, except for the fact that she was wearing a heck of a lot of makeup still.

"I'll join you!" she said, smiling. Ugh, okay, as long as she didn't need a babysitter.

She bought a bottle of water from a vending machine in the lobby and we headed off to the gym just down the street from the hotel. I already scoped out the hotel gym on the way in. It was not really well-equipped. Plus, the more serious gyms are where you're more likely to run into other wrestlers, and by other wrestlers I obviously mean Curtis. Although even if I did it's not like we'd be alone anyway now…

* * *

As we walked in the gym, sure enough, there were a few WWE guys in there—also Kaitlyn. No Curtis, though. For a warm up I started on the treadmill, just to get the muscles moving and the heartrate up. Claire started on the treadmill too alongside me. Of course. After about five minutes I headed over to the weights area of the gym, where I doubted Claire would deign to follow me. I started to work through my muscle groups one by one, getting out all my frustrations and annoyances from the last few weeks on the road. Every time the gym door would open up and slam shut I'd jerk my head up, looking for Curtis. It would be remiss of him not to hit the gym on a long travel day.

_SLAM_

Nope, just Kofi Kingston.

_SLAM_

Ugh, Dean Ambrose. Head down, V.

_SLAM_

Come on… Antonio Cesaro? Curtis, where are you?

Whatever. Constantly checking the door was distracting me from my workout, so I went over to the weights and carried a fairly light bar over to the bench for my chest presses. You can't look at the door if you're eyeing up the ceiling, I reasoned. I don't usually have any problems with my bad shoulder with chest presses but I like to keep the weight light anyway just because there's no one spotting me. I powered through my first set in record time then laid the bar back to recover before number 2.

"Your bar is too light," a voice came. The owner of it peered over me as I lay on the bench. For Christ's sake, Ambrose. The last person I want to see right now.

"My bar is just fine, in that it isn't going to crush me if I drop it on myself," I replied smartly. Not one to be argued out of a point I guessed, he grabbed the bar. "Hey!" I protested. He replaced it with another bar which, from the way it clanked against its metal holder, sounded much heavier.

"I'll spot you," he said simply. "Go on, show me what you got." He stood over me in the spotting position, his arms readied near the bar. I sighed and picked it up and held it above my chest, arms straight out. Oh god, it was heavy.

"Do six then give it to me," he said. Slowly I bent my arms to bring the weight down until just above my chest, inhaling all the way, then I pushed back up, engaging all the muscles in my arms and chest. Well, I did it. Five more to go. I concentrated on the bar, and on Ambrose's arms as he kept them near to the bar at all times, ready to catch it if it fell.

"That's it, push it up, keep it level," he said. "I knew you were strong after that damn massage you gave me."

He was just trying to motivate me, I assumed. I gritted my teeth, gave the bar a look of steely determination and pushed up again for the third rep, then the fourth…five…six… Done. I let out a desperate breath as Ambrose removed the weight from my hands and placed it back. I was sucking in deep breaths as he stood over me.

"One more?" he asked. Why the fuck not? I had the adrenaline now.

"Yeah," I breathed out, readying my hands on the bar once again. The second set of six seemed easier than the first—well, at first. At the fifth, my arms gave out and the bar came rushing towards my chest. Dean's hands shot out to catch it.

"Whoa," he said.

"Close one!" I said, laughing.

"You still got one in you?"

"Umm… yeah." I finished off the set and sat up, stretching my arms behind my back. I turned around and saw the weight that Ambrose had put on there for me.

"Whoa, I really lifted that?" I asked, laughing.

"Yeah, it's alright for a girl, I guess," he shrugged, and then he walked off to resume his own workout. Maybe Dean Ambrose wasn't planning on being a creep tonight. That was excellent news. I've always been prepared to give second chances.

I looked across the gym to survey my next piece of equipment, thinking maybe it was time for some more cardio. Over on the rowing machine facing away from me I saw the familiar silhouette of Curtis—I hadn't even heard the door to the gym slam. When did he come in? He had a free machine next to him. I could row...why not? I gathered up my towel and gave my bench a quick wipe down, but when I looked up again the machine next to Curtis was no longer free. It was occupied by my 'bestie' Claire… She was chatting away to him.

Whatever, I hate rowing anyway. The hard seats hurt my ass. I set up on the treadmill again and ran until my chest hurt. The gym hadn't turned out to be a good way to ease my frustrations and annoyances. If anything, it had exacerbated them.

I left Claire in the gym and went up to my hotel room and sent Curtis a text before hopping into the shower.

**Hey, saw you in the gym tonight, lookin good ;) maybe see you tonight?**

I spent an eternity running my spent muscles under the steamy jets and when I came out I looked at my phone again.

**Yeah I saw you too but you looked pretty busy. I'll seeya round**

Oh. Okay.

* * *

**Claire's POV**

* * *

When Curtis walked into the gym Verity was much too preoccupied by Dean Ambrose. I might have mentioned to him as I saw him walk in that she couldn't stop talking about him to me after their little encounter in Atlanta… Oh yes, I knew all about that, although I didn't hear it from Verity.

Anyway, it was her loss. While she was wiping down her bench I climbed onto the rower beside Curtis.

"Hey there!" I said.

"Oh hey," he said in between breaths. He was really going for it on that rower. It was a sight to behold. I started to row slowly. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Verity get on a treadmill and start running at some ridiculous speed. She had this strained look on her face—it was really not very attractive.

Eventually Verity left and Curtis went over to the weights side of the gym. I figured I'd done enough exercise or whatever, too. I went out to the locker area and my attention was drawn to a bag with a phone sitting on top of it that had just buzzed with a message tone. There was a familiar red hoodie laid beside it, which I recognised as Curtis's, as he wore it all the damn time. I glanced down at the screen…a message from Verity. Was she that desperate? I picked up Curtis's phone and unlocked it—there was no passcode. That boy was much too trusting. I opened up the message.

**Hey, saw you in the gym tonight, lookin good ;) maybe see you tonight?**

Really? Is that the best she could muster? A pathetic attempt at flirting if you ask me. I looked around and typed back a blunt, unfriendly response and then promptly deleted Verity's message as well as my reply. Enjoy that one, Verity.

_[The next day…]_

**_Today, 9:06am  
_****Don't come down with V yet. C still in lobby - D  
K, stalling her - C**

**_Today, 9:19am  
_****Ok all clear - D**

She's always going on to me about how it's such a shame she doesn't get to see Curtis much anymore... Yeah, it sure is, I always tell her. A real crying shame...

* * *

**Thanks everyone for putting up with my incessant changing of points of view, but it's really the only way I can think of to get the story to make sense! Your tolerance is greatly appreciated and as a reward the next chapter, I can reveal, will contain smut xP I'm editing and uploading it right now.**


	20. What's the matter?

_Dreamer, you will waste your time  
Do you ever wonder why  
We go on and on and on?_

- 'What's the Matter?', Milo Greene

* * *

**Verity's POV**

* * *

I should say, perhaps, that even as things with Curtis were kind of complicated, work was going swimmingly. I'd managed to work out a good system of getting paperwork done in my down moments when there was no one who needed any number of taping, stretching, massaging or general other services provided by yours truly. In fact, sometimes I could even just chill out for a little while on my own, which was something I rarely got a chance to do these days.

I managed to find a secluded little corner to tuck myself up in with my laptop. The show was set to start in a couple of hours but I probably wouldn't be needed with the medical team for at least another half an hour. My phone sat idle by my side as I opened up YouTube to check my subscriptions. I thought about messaging Curtis but… better not. Didn't want to bother him. To my delight I saw a new instalment of Botchamania had been uploaded. 301 views—ooh, I was early. I love being early. As the music rang out I sat back and sipped on my water bottle. This oughta kill 15 minutes or so.

Suddenly I became aware of a presence over my shoulder.

"Are you watching Botchamania?"

I paused the video and turned, looking up—it was Curtis. How'd he find me? Who cares. I beamed at him.

"Yeah, wanna watch?" I pointed my laptop screen towards him. He sat down beside me and I hit the play button.

"I might be on this one," he said, sidling up to me.

"Pfft, like you ever botch." I elbowed him playfully.

It was nice, just sitting there with Curtis, laughing at all of the fails of his colleagues, and most importantly, we were alone. I was still a little thrown by his text a few days ago that had blown me off. It really wasn't like him. I decided not to bring it up. I didn't want to ruin the nice moment we were having together.

Apparently, he didn't want to ruin it either. He didn't say a damn thing before he cupped my face in his hand and turned it towards him, kissing me gently on the lips and then more intensely. He had me pinned to the wall—I brought my hand up to his head and pulled him into me, all my worries and tensions flooding away as I sighed into his lips.

As awkward as our interactions had been as of late, clearly our sexual chemistry hadn't diminished. His touch was like fire and ice on me all at once as he started at my hip and then probed under my top to the bottom of my ribs.

"I haven't had you alone in so long," he growled. He caught my lip in his teeth and pulled, eliciting more noises from me. "You've been so busy."

"Mmph," was all I could say as I desperately tried to find my way under his shirt. "Got time now." The two of us stood up together, lips still connected. I broke the kiss to glance around the secluded hallway, my hands still pressed to his stomach under his shirt. He was breathing heavy, staring me down.

"Looking for a janitor's closet?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Actually, yes."

Without a word he grabbed my hand and led me down the hallway. I had just enough time to slam the lid of my laptop closed before he dragged me away. Privacy, y'know.

He yanked the handle down of a door with a wheelchair symbol on it and pulled me inside, locking it behind him. It was just a room with a toilet, a long metal handrail and a sink.

"A disabled toilet, Curtis? What if someone needs to use it…"

"Have you seen any people in wheelchairs around here?"

"Linda McMahon circa 2001?"

"Oh I love it when you talk wrestling trivia to me, baby." Curtis roughly ground into me as I giggled, then gasped as his hand slid down my pants.

"I haven't got much time…" he muttered, tugging the waistline of my pants down to my thighs. He forced me to the wall, face first. I heard the zip and clank of his pants and belt and a ball of expectations formed and tightened in the pit of my stomach.

"Then hurry up and fuck me."

He gave a menacing little noise and pulled my hips flush against him. I was more than happy to assist in pushing myself towards him as he guided himself to my entrance. A small whining noise escaped my lips as he pushed into me, matched by his own little grunt of satisfaction.

There was no warm up. From the first movement he was thrusting like the world was ending, hard and fast, my cheek pressed up to the cold bathroom tiles. His hand moved around from gripping my hips, reaching around to place his fingers on my small bundle of nerves. I cried out, the sound echoing in the small room. Every ministration and every thrust brought me closer—he moved faster as I encouraged him with my moans and sighs.

"Fuck, Curtis, please—" I mumbled.

"Oh yeah, baby," he growled. "Come for me."

I slammed my hands into the tiles of the bathroom wall and threw my head back as my vision went white, my voice hoarse. My climax urged Curtis on, and he started making these frankly animal noises, his hand moving from my aching, sensitive nub back to my hips, gripping them tight, slamming me into him. His short, frantic jerks turned into deep, slow, grinding ones as he groaned into the back of my neck and shoulder the whole way through his climax. His hand joined mine on the wall in front of me as he stay put for a moment.

The post-orgasmic trance was immediately broken by the sound of footsteps and conversation outside the door. Ah, the real world. Yeah, I forgot about that… I pulled up my pants as Curtis refastened his belt.

"We oughta get back to work," he said, a satisfied smirk across his face.

"Oh yeah, that thing I was doing until you came and dragged me off to have your way with me, caveman style." I smirked right back.

"Excuse me? You were watching Botchamania when I 'dragged' you off."

I gave him a sheepish look and unlocked the bathroom door, letting us back out into the hallway. He kissed me once more on the lips, intertwining his fingers with mine at our sides. Then he just sort of… walked away. In a daze, I wandered back to my laptop and opened it back up. The half-watched Botchamania video was still there, paused. I guessed I'd finish it later that night. Time for work.

* * *

I must have still been in a daze by the time I got back to the hotel late that night after the show. I laid down on my bed and stared up at the ceiling, toying with my phone in my hand. I must have had a pretty goofy look on my face.

"What's up with you, Miss V?" Claire asked, jumping onto the other twin bed adjacent to mine. "Dean Ambrose didn't corner you again, did he?"

"What?" I guess she saw us in the gym. "No… Curtis though…"

"Oh? Do tell!"

I shook my head. "It was good. I haven't caught up with him in so long."

"Yeah," Claire said absently. Guess she wasn't interested now she knew I didn't plan to tell her anything. It was our moment. Not to be shared.

* * *

**General 3****rd**** person perspective (but mainly Curtis)**

* * *

Curtis was walking down the hallway of the arena after his match that night—a pretty good brawler versus Cody Rhodes. He got back to the locker room and started to unlace his boots. The door was ajar, but he couldn't be bothered to get up and close it. If anyone peeked through and saw him while he was getting changed that was their excellent luck, he figured. He heard footsteps approaching but they stopped short of the door. A silhouette clad in black swooshed past the door.

"Hey man," he heard the voice. With the accent, he figured it was Antonio Cesaro, whom Curtis was sharing a dressing room with that night.

"Hey, how's it going, bro?" a deep gruff voice replied back. Ambrose, maybe? He didn't see any black hair on the figure that moved past the door, so that narrowed it down, although it could have just been Seth from the wrong angle with all that yellow.

"Good, good. Hey, I saw you with that hot trainer chick at the gym last night. What's her deal? Is she down?" Cesaro said in a hushed voice. Down? Down to… oh.

It was definitely Dean he was talking to, then. He sure hadn't seen any other members of the Shield cosying up to Verity in the gym last night, which he guessed was who Cesaro was referring to by 'that hot trainer chick'. He didn't hear Dean's immediate reply—he was always one for non-verbal communication.

"I dunno, man. You know she's fucking Curtis, right?"

"Oh, really? Damn…"

"Although she doesn't seem that attached, if you know what I mean. Had her on the floor of my locker room the other week, didn't protest too much." They both laughed.

What the hell? Curtis thought, muscles in his chest tensing up as his stomach dropped.

"Anyway, like you say, you saw me with her last night so I got first dibs, bro."

"Ahh… alright, fine. Catch you for drinks later?"

"Fuck yeah."

Curtis heard the sound of hands slapping together and decided it was time to get in the shower. A moment later, Cesaro walked in.

The unfinished, unsent text to Verity sat in the message box of Curtis's phone. When he got out of the shower he smiled at Cesaro and wiped the box clear.


	21. Cute Without the E

_Your lipstick, his collar  
Don't bother, angel  
I know exactly what goes on_

-'Cute Without the E', Taking Back Sunday

* * *

**3****rd**** person perspective**

* * *

It wasn't Curtis's usual manner to mope around the place, but he couldn't really help it. Verity was on his mind. Everything he'd suspected in his most paranoid moments seemed to be coming to fruition. Truth be told, he didn't really know much about the girl before he'd decided he wanted her on the road with him so he could have her whenever he liked. The practical aspects of that had been much harder to anticipate, when it turned out that her job was pretty full on, and her travel partner was even more so. He'd never been one for much forward planning.

Also, as it turned out, other superstars had taken an interest in Verity—he'd been a bit stupid to not have realised earlier that that was going to happen, in his own humble opinion, especially given her line of work. And, to be fair to her as well, she would have basically been like a kid in a candy shop with all those wrestlers around. Did he think he was the only one who could recognise a beautiful woman when he saw one? For a chick magnet, you're pretty fuckin' useless when it comes to women and courtship, he thought to himself.

In the next town, by luck, their hotel rooms had been placed on the same floor, albeit at opposite ends of the building. His room was by the elevator, Verity and Claire's at the very far end of the corridor. He didn't feel quite so lucky, though. He had managed to catch the occasional glance of her as he opened his hotel door just in time to see the elevator doors closing on her, and Claire of course, or as he peered down the corridor to see her fiddling with her room's electronic lock. She hates those fucking things… All it served to do was make him feel bad—her presence taunted him with the thing he had lost. No, that had been taken from him.

* * *

It was maybe about seven o'clock in the evening as Curtis stepped into the elevator to ride it up to his floor, duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

"Wait—wait for me!" he heard a high female voice cry, and the clip-clop of high heels coming towards the elevator doors. He stuck his arm out to prevent the doors from closing and Claire hurried in with an overly large handbag in her hand.

"Thanks!" she said, placing her bag on the ground. Curtis noticed that she was holding her hand gingerly, and when he looked down at her he noticed there was blood.

"Gee, I hope I'm not asking too much of you here but I don't have my room key on me and I cut myself somehow. Can I use your bathroom to clean it up?"

"Oh… yeah, sure, I guess. Where's Verity, though?"

"I have no idea. That's why I'm asking to use_ your_ bathroom," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. The elevator transported them up to the fourth floor and they both got out. Curtis picked up Claire's bag so she could hold onto her wound. He was a gentleman, after all.

"Gee, that does look nasty actually," he said, fumbling around in his pocket for the key to his room.

"It looks worse than it is, I think," she said, fluttering her eyelashes up at him. Claire waited patiently beside the door to Curtis's room. She'd heard a rumour Curtis was alone these last few nights because Heath had taken off home due to a family illness or something. With any luck, that would prove true.

As Curtis finally got the key out and was able to unlock the door, Claire glanced over to the elevator shaft, which she knew Verity would be riding up any moment. This whole thing had been a perfect execution on her part—the timing of the elevator, knowing Curtis would be alone (although she'd had the tip-off from Ambrose to thank for that one), the knife she'd used to discretely slice her hand open—she often surprised herself at just how fucking clever she was.

As Curtis pushed the door open she lingered for a moment. When the elevator doors began to open, she ushered herself inside, and as Curtis followed her in, placing her bag just inside the door, she purposely stepped towards Curtis and touched his chest with her non-bloodied hand.

"Thanks," she said, giving a knowing smile.

"Uh, no problem?" he replied. As he closed the door behind them, she gave a sideward final glance out the door. Sure enough, there stood Verity. She'd seen enough.

* * *

**Verity's POV**

* * *

I wasn't really sure what I just witnessed, but I'd seen enough to confirm all my doubts and fears. Why Curtis hadn't texted me that night after our bathroom encounter. Why Claire was always asking me questions about him. Why she was always _around_ whenever Curtis and I ran into each other.

It wasn't that he'd decided to move on from me onto some other girl, ready and waiting for him—god knows there had to be a queue the length of the block to get to him. And let's face it, he does have a reputation as a ladies' man, although I wouldn't go as far as to say he was a manwhore. It was more the fact that I had convinced myself that I cared about Curtis, and worse, after we fucked in the disabled bathroom, that Curtis might have actually cared about me, too.

In spite of myself, tears started to sting my eyes. I powered down the corridor, past Curtis's room where he and Claire were inside doing god knows what by now, and let myself into my room. And the worst part of it all? God damn fucking Dean Ambrose was right, in the end. He'd let me dangle—and dangling inevitably involves dropping. So there I was, alone, unable to talk to anyone about this fucking guy and this girl I thought was my closest friend.

Well, I couldn't stay there. Not when Claire would be coming back, some satisfied smirk across her pale, overly made-up little face. I moved over all my essentials from my larger bag to a small purse and made my way down to the hotel bar. There had to be a bottle of whiskey with my name on it.

I didn't want to risk walking past Curtis and Claire on my way out so I took the fire stairs, which were at the far side of the building closer to my room. I started my descent, looking down at the dirty concrete, one foot after the other in a hypnotic rhythm. I didn't even hear anyone coming up the other way, but about halfway down, turning the corner on one flight I crashed straight into…well, of course it had to be Dean fucking Ambrose, wouldn't it?

"Whoa!" he said, grabbing onto the rail, and I realised that I had nearly bowled him down the stairs. It was weird seeing him not in his Shield outfit or gym gear, but in normal civilian clothes—just jeans and a black hoodie. Okay, so black was still a theme with him.

"Shit, sorry," I said, looking around, up, down, anywhere but to make eye contact with another individual at this particular moment when I was pretty sure I still had tears in my eyes. "What are you doing in the fire stairs?"

"I always take the stairs. What are _you _doing in the fire stairs?"

"I'm going to go have a drink. And then another drink," I said blankly. I glanced up at Dean's face. He raised an eyebrow, but not in that cocky way he usually does. It resembled more…concern?

"Are you alright? Come on, let's go get a drink then," he said, turning on the step and going back down the way he came.

"Why? What? Yeah, I'm fine…" Was I convincing him? Probably not.

"Oh yeah, you're totally fine. Anyway, you're not getting drunk on your own. Pretty girl like you will have vultures all over her in no time."

"What's supposed to convince me that you're not a vulture as well?"

He shrugged. "I'm not a vulture, I'm a hyena. I scare all the vultures away."

"Either way you're still picking over a dead carcass."

He pushed the door to the stairs open, taking us out into the lobby and then a sharp left to the entrance of the bar.

"Don't order the tap beer, it's terrible," he said, walking us over to the bar.

"All beer is terrible," I remarked. Dean gave this hurt look which made me giggle. The bartender came over and asked for our orders.

"Whiskey and coke please," I said.

"Heineken for me," Dean added. We paid and sat down in a corner of the bar. It was dark and, frankly, a bit chilly, standing in contrast to the warm, bright expanse of the hotel lobby. I guess people don't generally want to be seen drinking their sorrows away, or whatever else it is they're trying to block out.

"Are you going to tell me what upset you?"

"Maybe after a few more of these," I said, taking my first sip.

"That's cool, I can wait." Dean leant back, his lips pressed to the bottle. He kept his eyes on me as he swished the bottle back and swallowed a mouthful of beer. Despite the coldness of the room, I felt myself blush. Like I think I've mentioned before, I don't like it when people stare at me intensely.

Well, if I'm drinking with Dean Ambrose I figured I may as well take the opportunity to get to know the guy a bit better. His indie career always fascinated me, though I didn't follow it very closely, but I recognised his face the first time I saw him on NXT. At the very least, as he chatted fairly openly about some of the more hair-raising matches he'd participated in over the years, I found myself glued to his stories, and Curtis and Claire, temporarily at least, were gone from my mind. Or maybe that was the fourth whiskey. Who knows.

The thing about drinking while you're sitting down is you don't really realise how drunk you are until you're forced to stand up. Dean kept getting up to get us more drinks as we alternated shouting rounds, so I just sat there, leaning back on the kind of sticky leather of the booth, and if it was still cold, I no longer felt it.

Dean came back with round 5 and handed me my change. I let it drop from my hand, the coins clinking down onto the wooden table.

"Fine, don't take your damn change then." Ambrose sat down and took a swig from the new bottle. I sipped on my whiskey and coke. For all the alcohol currently coursing through my veins, I was surprisingly alert (I thought), which was probably a result of all the caffeine I don't normally ingest. "Now are you going to tell me what upset you earlier?"

I sighed. "Just a motherfucker by the name of Johnny Curtis and my whore of a travel partner."

"Oh…" He didn't say anything more than that—just let me continue.

"So I guess I thought we had something when in fact we had nothing." I took another long sip from my glass. "So, fuck him—or should I say, don't fuck him, ever again I guess."

"Shit, I knew you two screwed around but I didn't know you were that serious about him."

I shrugged. "It was only ever casual. I didn't know if he wanted it to be serious, so I played it cool. Too cool, perhaps."

"No shit." Dean looked down at his bottle, his lips slightly pursed, like he was trying to peer inside of it. Cute little pink lips—and high cheekbones most girls would die for. Not to mention that scruffy blonde mop and the light blue eyes. Ahem. So maybe before I met Curtis I felt like most women felt—that the fact that the Shield wore shirts while they wrestled was the greatest injustice of all.

My drunk brain was getting all these ideas. The sadness from a few hours ago had turned to spite, with a touch of anger, and all I wanted to do right then, in that moment, with Dean Ambrose eyeing up his Heineken—I leaned across the table and kissed him on his pursed lips. His hand immediately went to my neck, steadying my swaying body against him. After a minute he pulled back and took in a breath, querying me with his eyes.

"Are you sure you want this?"

"Let's not pretend you didn't want me from the moment you stole that fucking roll of tape from my table. As I am currently unattached and uninhibited I think you should take me—" I rambled, "—up to your room." As I said the last four words I bit down on his bottom lip, which tasted like beer. His hand caught me again, this time tangling up in my hair.

"Fine. Let's take the stairs."

I giggled and downed the remainder of my drink. Dean took his bottle with him as we exited the bar and headed for the stairs.


	22. Cut Up Angels

_Watched you bite into the bottle_  
_Watched me kick out the chair_  
_Let you chew up the glass_  
_And laughed as you just hung there_  
_I have thought of rose petals mostly perfect and pure_  
_Then I thought of your petals _  
_And the abuse they've been through_

-'Cut Up Angels', The Used

* * *

**Dean's POV**

* * *

You could call me a man of conviction, but I was anything but convicted about my intentions for Verity Whelan after she told me her little sob story about how she'd seen Curtis and Claire going into his room together earlier that evening. I'd been playing this game with Claire now for a while, after she'd approached me about helping her to keep Curtis and Claire apart because she wanted to fuck him and she knew he would never be interested while V was around.

I have to say, she thoroughly misrepresented the nature of their relationship. To my mind they were casual, and keeping them apart only meant keeping their sexual organs away from one another—like magnets, get them too close and they just sort of... whomp together. Weird analogy. Okay, anyway.

Then Verity says that she was always after something more serious and it seems like she only had eyes for the guy after all. So fuck me, that makes me an asshole, I guess. By that point she was already drunk though, and I guess my sexual magnetism is too much for chicks at the best of times—you can only imagine what it does to drunk ones who are feeling betrayed by a guy and her best friend.

She lunged at me across the table and my hand automatically went up to the back of her neck. Her lips were soft and sweet with the aftertaste of whiskey and sugar from all the cola. I took all my willpower to pull back and ask her if she was sure about what she wanted from me.

"Let's not pretend you didn't want me from the moment you stole that fucking roll of tape from my table," she said, slurring slightly—a compelling and, most of all, truthful argument I had to admit. By the time she demanded to be taken back to my room and bit me on my bottom lip I was thoroughly convinced. Or at least certain parts of me were.

When I got her inside the stairwell I pulled her back from the bottom step and pushed her to the wall, bruising my lips against hers. She fought back, taking two fistfuls of my hoodie in her hands and turning us 180 degrees so that I had my back to the wall. My head slammed against the concrete wall as she kissed me again, almost angrily. Wow, alright, nothing wrong with a bit of healthy competition.

"C'mon," I mumbled, pushing her off me. "Level three. Not far."

If I'd let her carry on like that I might have ended up fucking her in the stairwell. I may not be the most classy guy around but I always make a point to fuck a woman in my bed where I can.

I took her by the hand and led her up three flights of stairs. She kept up well, for being drunk. I mean, I was drunk too I guess. What I mean is she didn't trip and stumble and giggle like those other stupid ass drunk girls. Well, she giggled—when she slapped me on the ass as we turned the corner on the stairs. I turned around and caught her hand and growled at her, "Keep your hands to yourself sweetheart or this won't end in a way you'll like."

It was an empty threat anyhow, but the problem was, I think she liked it. She tried to kiss me again, straining her face upwards towards mine, but I didn't let her. God help me. We had stairs to climb.

We finally made it to the third floor and I quickly ushered her to my hotel door, where I fumbled around for my key. God, things were simpler when a key was a key and not a plastic rectangle. It didn't help that she'd decided my clothes were too much of a barrier and kept tugging at my hoodie, slipping her hands underneath to run her hands over my stomach and then, sneakily, undoing my belt. She was hissing in my ear all these filthy words, groping the outside of my pants. Find the fucking key...

Once we were inside I decided it was time to teach her just who the dominant one in this encounter was going to be. She tried to attack me again but I got to her first, roughly shoving her towards the tiny table beside the door. I swung my leg out and kicked the chair away from the table to allow us more room, sending it over to hit the wall with a dull thud. She giggled at the sight of the chair laying on its side, propped herself up on the table and pulled me towards her.

I was standing between her legs, trying to get her t-shirt over her head while she was at the same time ineffectually trying to get my hoodie over mine. I grabbed her hands and held them above her head, then drew her t-shirt up with my other hand—the whole time she was staring at me, sizing me up, daring me with her eyes to take advantage. She seemed almost disappointed when I finally let her hands fall, but then she went straight back to my hoodie, this time pulling it up and over my head, t-shirt included.

I took a moment to run my eyes over her shapely body—her tanned, toned stomach, sleek shoulders—I noticed a long faint scar running along the left one—not to mention an ample bossom hidden behind a lacy purple bra. Well, fuck...

While gazing at her body, Verity had taken advantage of the fact and shoved me back onto the bed. I smirked up at her, a look of amusement playing across my face. But she didn't look amused. She looked…pissed off. She tore at the front of my pants, dragging them down my legs.

"Are you going to help me or are you going to just fucking lie there?" she said impatiently. So she did want a competition. I sat up and kicked off my shoes and my pants, then pulled her down on top of me. I tore into her neck and collarbone and suddenly she wasn't so mouthy. Little whines and all these sexual noises came out of her and she was throwing her head back, gripping my shoulders tight. I reached a hand around her back and unclasped her bra, ripping it from her body, causing her to gasp. I ducked down to help myself to one pink, sensitive nipple and she threaded her fingers through my hair, her hips moving and writhing over mine.

By now she had to be feeling that I was rock hard through my boxer shorts, but she was still wearing her jeans, and that was a problem. I flipped her over onto her back and started working her pants off her sweet little body to reveal—well, if it wasn't a pair of purple lacy panties to go with the bra. I'd have to request to see her in that ensemble later, if she'd let me. For the time being, I was content to kiss and lick my way down her stomach, enjoying the sounds she was making and all the squirming she was doing. When I reached the thin line of fabric over her hip I took it between my teeth and pulled, discarding the no longer necessary undergarment.

I was kneeling between her legs as she lay there exposed, hair splayed out on the hotel bed spread, biting her lip at me. I guess I stayed there a moment too long again because she raised her legs up around my waist and threw me sideways onto the bed so that she was on top again. She was pulling my underwear down over my painfully untouched erection, eyes never leaving mine. She came back up so that we were face to face, straddling me, her most intimate parts held torturously above mine, so close but just out of reach. I gripped her hips and tried to thrust up to her, but she adjusted her position and all I found was air.

"Is this what you want, Dean?" she whispered, lips pressed to my ear. She took me in her hand and held my tip at her entrance. Playing with me. She moved her lips back to mine and I nipped at them hungrily. She kept torturing me, moving her hips over me, avoiding me at the last moment. I growled in frustration. She was mad at Curtis—why the fuck did she have to take it out on me?

Once again I turned the tables and she was on her back. Now I knew all her tricks she wouldn't be getting the upperhand on me again. I held her down with my superior strength, one hand on her hip, the other on her throat. I didn't press down hard, but she still couldn't move, or speak.

"Lost for words, sweetheart?" I whispered as I held my face close to hers.

She didn't reply.

"You really shouldn't tease me, angel. Because I will get what I want."

She definitely liked the dirty talk I was hissing in her ears. From the way she was looking at me with those lust-filled eyes and panting underneath me, she was practically begging me to enter her right then and there. But that would have been a waste of the situation. Her under me, naked, mindlessly horny—I had to explore, find out what made her tick, what made her _scream_. That's the fun part of sex anyway.

I kept a hand to her throat as I worked my way down her body and found her wet core, tasting her with my tongue. I dipped inside of her and she tensed up, a shuddering, muted sigh coming from her lips. I released my hand from her throat, a silent understanding between us that if I did so it didn't mean she could just up and attack me again. It just meant I wanted to hear her moan for me.

When I dipped back in a second time she did just that. Her hands wrapped in my hair—she was really going for it. I swirled my tongue over her beautiful little clit, flicking and working it as she continued to squirm and pant beneath my firm grasp. As her legs began to tense and her hips started to jerk I knew she was close. I quickly replaced my tongue with two fingers inside her and a thumb on the outside making the same motion, and brought myself up to meet her face. I drove my tongue into her mouth, letting her taste herself. She moaned, mouth wide open into our kiss as she came all over my hand, writhing and gasping until she reached a resting point. As I fell to her side her eyes slowly closed and she nuzzled into the crook of my neck.

"Aw, precious, done already?" I leaned down and whispered into ear. "I'm just getting warmed up."

Her eyes shot open again and a grin spread across her face.

"Oh, good," she replied, "because that would have been a disappointing way to finish."

"You sounded pretty satisfied when you were finishing all over my fingers," I growled, moving back into a more dominant position over her. Verity's climax had gotten me more than a little worked up. I ached to be inside of her, and nothing was stopping me.

Whatever smart ass comment she was going to make next was cut off by the desperate noise that escaped her lips when I thrust into her roughly. From there, my body went into autopilot, mind going blank with my need for her. I kept my lips to hers, sharing sloppy kisses as I connected with her, time after time, every thrust trying to move deeper. If there was one thought in my mind it was maybe that I was glad she was a tall, strongly built girl. I could slam her hard without fear of breaking her in half…but god fucking dammit I was going to try anyway.

When she wrapped her legs around my waist it took all the strength and willpower in me to keep from coming on the spot. She was pulling me into her with her legs and her hips, all of her so receptive and warm and—I let out a guttural moan as she raked her fingernails down my back, hard, leaving a trail of stinging sensations. I had to wonder just who was going to come out of this encounter with more war wounds. She was a wildcat.

After that I tried to fuck her into the bed so hard the frame started jolting against the wall, but she was up for all of it. In fact, she wanted more. Before I knew it I had made her come again. She cried "Fuck!" as she dug in to my shoulder with one hand while the other came up to grab my hair, yanking it, pulling me into her face, biting me hard on the lip. The taste of blood in my mouth and her clamping and pulsating around my cock sent me over the edge.

"Fu—uuuck," I moaned into her mouth. She held onto me for dear life as I rocked my orgasm through her body, not caring about the thudding of the bed against the wall or the blood in my mouth or the scratches on my back. I stayed still for a moment on top of her, letting the last twitches of my spent cock reverberate inside of her, then rolled to one side.

We lay there side by side, sore and satisfied. After a while, I looked over and saw that she had fallen asleep, still exposed on top of the covers. Must have been the alcohol to make her pass out. I lifted up her legs and pulled the covers over her as best I could. What? I can be a gentleman, too.


	23. Aftermath

**Verity's POV**

* * *

I can count on one hand the times I've had sex with that amount of anger and intensity. Actually…I can count on one finger, which would make that a grand total of…one. Oh my gosh. After Dean rolled off me I just laid there, completely exhausted and pretty sure I could taste blood. I might have bit him a tad hard. Oops. I definitely wasn't sober yet, so my brain wasn't quite up to making a decision yet as to whether that whole thing was a good idea. My body was telling me it was, but my body _would _tell me that after what it just experienced.

I closed my eyes for one second, and when I awoke the room was dark and I was covered in blankets, though still naked. The sound of a door shutting had jolted me awake. I glanced over at the digital alarm clock—it was close to 1am, so I'd definitely been asleep for at least an hour. I noticed Dean wasn't in the room—probably he was the source of the door slamming.

I could hear voices out in the hallway as the walls were evidently pretty thin. I spared a thought for the people occupying the rooms immediately adjacent, above, below and behind Dean's—we hadn't exactly been quiet—before straining my ears to try and listen to the conversation. It was definitely Dean out there, and a girl.

"Is she in there?" the girl said. Who, me? "You look pretty fucked up."

"Yeah, big night," I heard Dean reply. "She's sleeping now."

"Look, I need you to keep her away from him for longer. Tell her you saw him with other girls or something."

"Why? I don't force misery on people, Claire." Oh, it was Claire… Wait, what?!

"Like hell you don't!"

"Well, I don't once I've got what I wanted. Plus, you kind of lied to me to begin with. She's really cut up about him."

"Duh!" Claire said, raising her volume. Now I could hear her clearly. "You knew what this was, Dean. That's literally the _only _reason she slept with you, she's so obsessed with Curtis, so you need to keep her away because I haven't gotten what _I _want yet!"

I heard Dean laugh. "Oh, so your night wasn't as magical as mine was?"

"I tried," she sighed. "I talked to him for a few hours but he was just fucking sitting there being _sad_, talking about_ her_." There was a pause in her tirade. "You need to tell Curtis that you fucked Verity. It'll make him mad, send him straight to me."

Oh my god. What the fuck have I done.

"I think I've fucked her over enough. Not my fault you can't pull under your own steam. This shit is over, Claire."

"But she won't ever come back to you again!"

"I'd rather she come back to me based on her own will, if she decides to, rather than a pack of lies. I'm done manipulating people."

Claire let out a frustrated noise and their conversation was over. The door to the hotel room started to open again as Dean slipped back in, wearing only his boxer shorts. I was sitting up, sheets wrapped around my chest. As he looked over towards the bed he saw me.

"Oh…"

"You—" I started, my voice wavering—I had trouble forcing the words out. From what I'd just heard, a nervous ball of rage and fear formed in my belly.

"Look, it's not as bad as it sounds," he said, turning on the light switch to the main room.

"Really? Because it sounds like you conspired to sabotage somebody's relationship just so you could get laid." Now the words were coming—flowing, even. "What the fuck, you sick motherfucker! Who does that?!"

"What relationship?" he said angrily, throwing his hands up in the air. He came back over to the bed and sat down beside me. "If you heard me out there, you know that I had _no _idea that you felt that way about each other. It's practically an open fucking secret that you two were fucking around. I just wanted to get in on the action, and Claire said she'd help me."

"I—still…" I stammered out, head spinning under the harsh hotel room light. I flopped back on the pillow, arms still held tightly around the sheets at my chest.

"And look, if I knew that was the case, maybe I wouldn't have done it. Although maybe I would have because that fuck was fucking excellent."

"You have no remorse do you!" I said sharply.

"You can think what you want about me, babe. Look, I feel bad that this whole thing happened under false pretenses, and I want you to know that if Claire decides to tell Curtis about us…I'll happily deny it until you decide it's a good idea to tell him or not."

I was looking around the room, trying to make sense of it all. I was angry at Dean but he was trying to help make it better at the same time—I couldn't figure any of it out.

"You think I could work it out with him?" I said meekly.

Dean shrugged. "If you want to and he wants to then probably. I'm not your fuckin' agony aunt. But I don't think you'll be able to dodge around the fact that we did indeed fuck each other's brains out. And hey, if it doesn't work out then you know where to find me, I guess." He winked at me, and in spite of it all, I laughed. "I wouldn't mind a rematch—I think you won that one." He twisted his body around to show me the backs of his shoulders. There were distinctive parallel red marks all down them.

"Oh shit, did I do that? I'm sorry…" I said, sitting up, my eyes wide at the sight of them.

Dean waved it off. "Actually, they're kind of awesome. I looked in the mirror earlier. Battle scars."

"You would be into that shit. I should have carved my initials…" I mused.

Dean gave a little growl and moved towards me on the bed. "Please don't tease me like that. I'm trying to be a real good guy to you right now."

There was still tension between us, that was for sure. I gave a little laugh to let him know I was making light of the situation. Damn, why the fuck wasn't I still angry at him? All my anger now was directed at Claire, who had known full well how I felt about Curtis.

The way Dean had explained himself had seemed so…reasonable. I guess I didn't really know if I could trust that he was being honest now, as opposed to before, but what reason did he have to lie now? As he said, he got what he wanted. Dean had been a pawn, really, which was odd for someone who was generally regarded as the brains behind the operation of the Shield. Just a pawn—guided and 100% motivated by, as is so often the case, his dick. It wasn't right, what he'd done, but at the same time it wasn't like he'd taken advantage of my semi-conscious body. I was awake, I knew exactly what I was doing and…yeah, I'd enjoyed it. God help me, what fucked up logic was I employing here? I wanted to hate him—all my sensibilities said that I should have hated him—but I didn't.

I sighed, trying to think of a forward plan from here on out, synthesising all the new information I just learned: Curtis's moping about for me in his room, Claire's scheming, Dean's explanation for what he'd done. It seemed pertinent that I go to Curtis and try to get everything out on the table, but it was late and he was probably asleep, and I was still mildly tipsy, _and_ I probably smelled like sex and Dean Ambrose. Also I had his blood in my mouth, and under my fingernails.

"Jesus fuck I don't know what to do…" I said, putting my head in my hands, pulling my knees up to my chest.

"Go have a shower—you can use mine. And if you don't want to share a room with that bitch tonight you can stay here, too." I looked up at him with a little apprehension. "I won't try anything you don't want me to."

I couldn't fault him on that. He never had tried anything. He had let me throw myself at him of my own free will—well, what I thought was my free will, even if it had been manipulated a little. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up, turning towards him. He didn't turn his eyes away from me as I stood there, and I didn't expect him to. Guess he figured it was the last time he was ever gonna see me naked. I looked down at my fingernails and ran my tongue over my lips. So much DNA evidence...

"Fresh towels are in there I think," he said, casually motioning at the bathroom door.

"Thanks." I wandered into the bathroom and made a point to scrub every inch of myself.

* * *

It was actually less awkward to be naked in front of Dean Ambrose than it was once I got out of the shower, wrapped in my towel, going around and picking up all my discarded bits of clothing from where they'd been strewn around the room. Underwear here, bra there… Shit was literally everywhere. My top was draped over the chair that Dean had unceremoniously kicked over trying to get at me on the table. All of it causing flashbacks to go through my head—all of it making me blush like a tomato. I set the chair back upright and looked at him pointedly. He shrugged, a lop-sided grin on his face.

"Have you decided what you're gonna do yet?" he asked. He was stretched out on the bed, upper back and neck propped up on the pillows—still in his boxer shorts, mind you. He never was going to be one to be modest or, you know, try to make it easy for a girl.

I sighed, pulling my underwear on under my towel. I dropped the towel and faced away from him to put my bra back on.

"Aw, come on," he said.

I turned and put my hands on my hips. "You've seen me naked a bunch of times already tonight."

"You don't know much about the male psyche, do you?" he said, cocking his head to the side. "It doesn't matter if we've seen you naked a thousand times. We always want to see you naked. Although standing there in your bra and panties is a nice substitute." He wiggled his eyebrows. I rolled my eyes.

"You're not being very sensitive for someone who basically just tricked me into fucking you."

"You're not very pissed off for someone who was tricked," he retorted. My silence was my own admission. Sex was sex, and you never, ever regret good sex. What had happened, happened—you accept the consequences of your actions.

"To answer your question, no, I haven't figured out what I'm gonna do yet. I can't talk to Curtis now—although Claire might have already got there first. And I'm not going to my room tonight, so I guess you got yourself a roomie. I'll figure it out in the morning... I'm so fuckin' tired."

I realised I was still standing there in my underwear. I moved to grab my jeans, which were by the door.

"Well if you're sleeping here don't bother putting jeans on," said Dean. He reached down to the side of the bed and pulled out an Explicit Ambrose Violence t-shirt. Oh, how those words had a very different meaning to me now... He tossed the shirt in my direction. "For your modesty."

I put the t-shirt on and then did that manoeuvre that all women know how to do by taking my bra off under my shirt.

"I swear you women invented that trick just to torture men," Dean muttered as I tossed the bra into the pile of my clothes that I had now assembled from around the room.

"Yeah, pretty much," I laughed. I just kind of stood there for a minute, in Dean's t-shirt and my panties, not really sure what to do next.

"Well turn the fuckin' light off then," Dean said, beckoning me over. I switched it off and made the few steps to the bed, feeling around for the sheets. I slipped in beside Dean on the queen-size mattress.

In the darkness I looked over at Dean's silhouette. "This is gonna sound weird," I said quietly, "but thanks."

"You're right, it does sound weird," Dean replied. He shifted over towards me. "Thanks for what? I kinda fucked you over."

"The state I was in, it was going to be a weird night regardless—but I'm glad it was you that found me."

Dean didn't say anything, but he did lift his arm up and tuck me under it so that my head rested on his shoulder, my hand coming to rest on his bare chest. It was surprisingly comfortable, and most of all, comforting. Almost instantly I started feeling drowsy.

"Just don't go telling anyone I'm actually a nice guy, okay?" he said in a voice just above a whisper. "Got a reputation to maintain."

"Secret's safe with me..." I mumbled, and then I fell back to sleep.


	24. Passive

**Special thanks to StraightEdgeVixen in this chapter for her amazingly supportive reviews :) Also lilywhite25, MoxieSteele and anyone else I've forgotten who has been kind enough to leave multiple reviews! Also ChristineNorthmanSalvatore for her lovely review. Also... pretty much everyone xD Anyway, shit is about to get real in this chapter. Enjoy!**

* * *

_You fucking disappoint me  
Maybe you're better off this way_

-'Passive', A Perfect Circle

* * *

When I awoke my mouth was dry and my stomach was doing somersaults. None of it had been a dream—what a surreal fucking night. The bad news was that I had accidentally slept with someone I probably shouldn't have because I was upset and angry at Curtis, thinking he'd slept with someone I thought was my friend. The good news was it turned out that it was all an elaborate ploy by annoying little pixie and in actual fact Curtis had been moping the entire night. If anything, the good news made me feel even worse. So, the good news was both good and bad, and the bad news was also kind of good insofar as at least I knew the truth now. I couldn't be manipulated anymore.

Just to top all of the surrealness off, I should probably mention that I woke up with a sleeping Dean Ambrose's arms around me. Jesus Christ. I slid out from him and went straight to the bathroom for some water—both to drink and to splash all over my face. I eyed myself up in the bathroom mirror. Thankfully, due to my habitual avoidance of cosmetics, my face wasn't all smudged with make-up, although my hair was a mess, but that was easily fixed. I pulled a hair band off my wrist—there's usually one there as my hair does get in the way most of the time—and scooped my hair into a mid-height pony tail. As for my clothes—well, I wasn't wearing most of them. I had on Dean's Explicit Ambrose Violence t-shirt still, which I had to say I liked the look of. I mean, it's a cool design and a cool slogan, right? I thought maybe I'd even have to get one of my own in a female cut…maybe I wouldn't wear it around Curtis, though.

Ugh, Curtis. That was going to be a difficult and weird conversation. We're not the greatest talkers. However, that'd have to wait. It was our last day in Detroit, after tonight's Night of Champions PPV. Oh god, on top of everything, I also had to go to work? When did my life get this complicated… Anyway, it being our last day, I figured I better call up someone at the company to tell them that I needed out of my travel arrangements with Claire.

I walked out of the bathroom and started putting on my clothes from last night and then found my phone. No calls or messages from Curtis—so maybe that was a good sign that Claire hadn't been able to burst in and excitedly tell him that she'd found me in Dean Ambrose's bed last night. It was eight in the morning, though, so… there was still time.

I considered going out into the hallway to make my phone call to avoid disturbing Dean, but there was too big a chance of running into other people who knew, first of all, who I was, and second of all, whose hotel room I was sitting outside of. It was strange to think of it that way, but Dean's room almost felt like a safe haven now—a secret, private place. My room was off-limits due to the Claire factor, and Curtis's—well. I'd get there.

I ended up sitting at the little table and making the call to my company contact—everyone has one. They're basically on call to answer any of your problems or queries day or night (though they prefer when you ring during business hours). Hopefully 8am wasn't too far outside the acceptable range. The phone picked up after the fourth ring.

"Hello, Hilary speaking," came the voice on the other end of the line.

"Hi Hilary, it's Verity Whelan."

"Hi Verity, what can I do for you this morning?" Such the consumate professionals, HR people...

"Look, it's a bit of a weird thing to ask, but I really need to be separated from my travel partner, Claire Gosford. There's been quite a serious, uhh—altercation. Personal. I can't travel with her anymore."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, Verity. Look, while WWE does pair up new employees to travel together, it's quite common that after a while you develop your own set of friendships and may choose not to stick with the person you're first assigned with. Feel free to cancel your current arrangements and organise new ones. I assume the feeling is mutual between the two of you?"

"I can imagine it would be."

"Okay, well thanks for letting us know, and best of luck in re-organising your travel and accommodation."

"Oh, you're welcome—uhh, thanks. Bye."

"Bye now."

We hung up. Okay, that was….easy? I guess the harder part would be now figuring out what to do next. Whatever. The Claire issue had been dealt with.

"Whowassat?" a tired, croaky voice came from the bed. Dean was pushing himself up to a sitting position, sheets falling to his waist.

"WWE. I'm not travelling with Claire anymore."

"Okay, cool. Alone, then?"

I hadn't thought about that. Apart from Claire and Curtis, and now Dean I guess, I hadn't really developed any of what Hilary had called 'friendships'. I'd been… preoccupied.

"I'll figure something out," I said, shrugging. "Look, now you're awake I think I might get going."

"To Curtis?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, uhh, good luck I guess."

The way he said it, I wasn't really sure if he meant 'I guess I should say good luck even though it's probably not a matter of luck', or whether he meant 'I guess I should say good luck even though it's not in my interests'. With Ambrose it could easily have been either.

* * *

It was pretty early still, and my stomach was a nauseated mixture of emptiness and alcohol rejection, but I knew where I had to go next. I couldn't take the chance that while I went and tried to eat a piece of fruit, Claire wouldn't go down to Curtis's room and spin him a completely warped version of events. I had to get in first.

To wake myself up, I jogged up the single flight of stairs back to the fourth floor, and I found my head spinning from the small blood rush. Nevertheless, I headed down the corridor with conviction, got to Curtis's door and raised my hand to knock—oh god, but I froze. C'mon, V. Courage time. I knocked, then listened for any kind of response. There was a good chance he could have been out at the gym already. Yeah, maybe he's not here… I'll come back later.

I turned as if to leave, but at that second the door opened and Curtis's head popped around the corner. He'd obviously been asleep—he was shirtless and his hair was sticking up in places that it doesn't normally.

"Verity?"

"Hi," I said. He simply opened up the door the whole way and I stepped inside.

I sat down on the end of the bed with my head down as he put a pair of sweatpants, having just been wearing boxer shorts before.

"What's up?" he said, coming over to sit on the bed beside me.

"I don't even know where to start," I sighed.

"Yeah, I guess I know what you mean," he admitted. "Look, V, I know—"

"Wait," I cut him off. "I think I know what you're gonna say, but I think I have to let you know some stuff first—that I found out last night. Or this morning, I guess."

He tilted his head at me, letting me continue.

"I think—no, well, I guess I _know_—Claire's been trying to, uhh—I want to say break us up, but that's not really the term. She's been trying to separate us."

Curtis was looking at me with this concentrated expression which suddenly dawned into realisation. "She was in my room last night," he said.

"I know…"

"Oh, wait, no, V, I don't want you to think she—"

"No, I know that bit, too." I sighed. "I don't know how long it's been going on. Ages probably. Do you remember that night in the gym? I didn't notice you came in and then I saw you on the rower and I wanted to go over but then _she _was there. That's just one of the things. I sent you a message afterwards to let you know I'd seen you but I guess you—"

"What message? When?"

"In Birmingham? First night we were there I—"

"I didn't get any messages from you that night."

"But you _replied_. You said 'you seemed pretty busy'—it was really snarky!"

Curtis was shaking his head. "When have I ever sent _you _a 'snarky' text, V? Is that something I would do?"

"I guess you wouldn't, but I know someone who would…" I buried my head in my hands. We'd both been so manipulated. "Christ!"

"Well that explains that, I guess, but V—I heard stuff from Ambrose, too. About you and him."

Now that was going to be harder to explain.

"He said he'd had you on the floor of his locker room? And I saw you with him at the gym…"

"The locker r—oh," I said, remembering. "If that's what he told you he left a few things out. He needed a back massage after his match, so I did it while he laid on the floor."

"Oh," said Curtis, a small smile creeping onto his face.

I continued: "Although, after I finished it he did basically say something to the effect of, 'you should stop screwing around with Curtis, get with me, blah blah blah' then flipped me on my back and left me there. Goddamn asshole."

Curtis's eyes darkened at that. "I fucking knew it," he said bitterly.

"Yeah, well, it seems like he and Claire might have been—I don't wanna say conspiring, because she was definitely the one pulling the strings. He didn't know that I..." I stopped there. I had always planned on telling him, but my stupid body had evidently hit the emergency stop button.

"That you what?" he encouraged.

I pushed on, "That I really had feelings for you. Actual soppy romantic ones." I started to blush furiously, wishing my hair was in such a position that I could hide behind it. "This is all so fucking complicated," I sighed.

"I know—wow," Curtis said. I peeked up at him and he was kind of smiling. "I guess I could say the same for you. The feelings thing."

I had butterflies in my gut. Even though he'd said it in a lame ass way he'd still admitted it—he had feelings for me, too. The soppy, romantic kind—the ones you feel with your heart, not your genitals. All this relief came over me and it was like I was floating. I turned to look at Curtis and he brought me down to earth by placing his hand gently to my cheek and pulling me into a kiss. At the contact I immediately whimpered and brought my hands up to his face, too. His tongue ran along my bottom lip, prompting me to open my mouth for him. I fell into him—surroundings forgotten, past, present and future forgotten, everyone else in the world fucking forgotten—absorbed in the soft sweetness of his lips.

Almost as if it was too good to be true, I was jolted back into reality by a series of sharp knocks on the door. My stomach sank. Curtis gave this confused look, like, 'why is everyone knocking on my fucking door this early in the morning?'

If my suspicions were right, he was about to find out. Before he opened the door he went to his suitcase and pulled a t-shirt over his head. Another few rapid knocks.

"Alright!" he called out in that annoyed voice. He looked over at me and for a minute I thought he was going to come back over and jump me. I missed that look in his eye… Instead, he went over and opened the door.

"Hi, Curtis!" the perky voice came. He kept the door most of the way closed so she couldn't see in and I couldn't see out, but as if I didn't know who it was.

"What do you want, Claire?" he said, a hint of hostility his voice. Oh, such a sweet guy—even though he knew now what she had done, it just wasn't in him to be mean.

"She's in there, isn't she." She said it as a statement rather than a question. "Hi, V!" she called through the open door. "So this is the second superstar's room you've been in this morning, huh?" She was going there. Alright, bitch. You want to take _me _on? She kept right on: "Actually, I guess you could say it's the second _champion_'s room, too! Boy you sure do pick them well!"

Curtis jerked his head over to me, pure confusion etched on his face, probably wondering 'What champion?' I wondered when it would click.

"What does she mean, V?"

Claire pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped in with us.

"That's fine, you go right on ahead and invite yourself in," I said sarcastically.

"He invited me in last night, why wouldn't he again?" she said, voice dripping with her intended meaning. She didn't know I knew about her own failures last night. I folded my arms and looked at her with a hostile smirk.

"Well, you may as well tell him, V. Where you spent the night, coz I sure don't remember you coming back to our room."

I gritted my teeth and swallowed, continuing to stare Claire down—I couldn't look Curtis in the eye. She eyed me right back.

"Cat got your tongue?" she said to me, then looked over at Curtis, who was standing there, looking back and forth between the two of us. "Well I won't say anymore, but Curtis, maybe you better go find Dean Ambrose and ask him where he got those scratches."

She stood there, looking so fucking self-satisfied. What right was it of hers to tell Curtis any of this?! I was going to tell him—in my own time. Curtis looked at me, everything finally having clicked. "So you did—"

"Fuck him?" Claire finished for him, folding her arms over her chest. "Yeah, she did."

"Why don't you shut the fuck up, Claire?! How is this _any _of your business?" I yelled. I tried to turn to Curtis but at the moment I caught eye contact with him, he turned away. "I was going to—"

"I think I'm going to need both of you to leave," he said.

"Curtis, I just need to explain it to you—_alone_," I emphasised, standing up from the bed. Claire wasn't even budging.

"No, both of you. Please go."

"The only reason I did it was because she made me think you were fucking her!" I cried.

"Oh yeah, coz that's so much better, V. You fucked someone else because you thought so little of me that I'd fuck…her?" Curtis said, pointing at Claire. His face was filled with disgust.

"Hey!" Claire said.

"Shut the _FUCK _up, Claire!" I yelled again.

"Did you really have _no _idea how I felt this whole time?" he questioned, coming over to stand in front of me.

"I—" I managed to squeak out. Face to face with an angry Curtis—I'd never seen him like this. He turned away and kicked the bed in frustration.

"Please, both of you, leave right now, or I swear to god—"

Claire turned tail and left. I walked to exit the room, hanging in the doorway for a second.

"No, I didn't know," I said quietly. I closed the door gently and leant against the wall of the hotel corridor. All of it was out of control. Oh, what the fuck have I done?


	25. Weak and Powerless

_Desperate and ravenous  
I'm so weak and powerless  
Over you_

-'Weak and Powerless', A Perfect Circle

* * *

I took a deep breath. I could hear Curtis cursing through the thin walls of the hotel. Looking down the long corridor I could see Claire clip-clopping her way back to our room. Seriously, who wears heels just to go 12 doors down the hall? I pushed myself off the wall and took after her.

"Hey!" I called out. She kept walking. I caught up to her in about six or seven paces, put my hand on her shoulder and swung her around.

"What?" she said, glaring up at me, like _I _was the one who'd done something wrong!

"What?!" I repeated incredulously. "What is your problem?! Why? I don't understand."

She bristled slightly, then shook her head. She turned away from me and pulled the door open to our room. I followed her inside.

"What?" I continued. "_Now _you won't face me? I mean, who does this kind of shit? This isn't a fucking soap opera!"

She just looked at me blankly, still shaking her head, like I didn't get it or something. Why didn't she fight back? Whatever. At this rate, I could keep talking.

"You know, it's funny actually," I said, "when you think about it, I mean. Because it seems like you went to quite a bit of trouble to drive me and Curtis apart, what—for your own gain? So that youcould have him? How gutted were you when you realised _he didn't want you_?"

That elicited a reaction at least. She scowled at me.

"And he won't want you now—not now he knows everything you did. Wow, you really didn't think this through at _all_, did you! Oh, and just so you know, don't wait up tomorrow when you leave town. I've made alternative arrangements."

So that was a lie. I hadn't done a damn thing to make alternative arrangements. It was on my to-do list, but berating Claire was higher up on the agenda at present.

"Fine with me. Look, let's just get ready for work, okay?" Claire said, finally, still now acknowledging any of what she'd done. Maybe she felt guilty. I don't know.

* * *

Once I got to the arena, I was able to refocus myself and concentrate on my work. I hadn't been able to think of an alternative plan that didn't consist of me just travelling by myself to the next town, at what would probably be a considerable expense. I was in medical, doing work on my laptop, when Dr Amman walked in.

"Hi Verity, how are you doing?" he said.

"Pretty good, nearly done with these files here," I replied.

"Great. Look, we've been really happy with your work, Verity," he said. "Had a lot of good feedback, especially from the talent—they seem to trust you and you obviously know your stuff."

Okaaay...? "Oh, well, thanks!" I said. "Always good to know how my performance is going."

"So, we're a little short with your ringside trainers this evening. I was wondering if you'd like to try your hand down there tonight."

Ringside… that was basically a promotion. Wow, talk about your good and your bad coming all at once. Even if it was just for the night, if I proved I could do it once, they'd be sure to put me out there again.

"Yeah, for sure! What do I need to know?" I answered enthusiastically.

"Oh, nothing really, actually," he said. "It's the same basic thing as being back here. If the referee signals, just go over to the talent and quickly check that they're okay. Most of the time it's just for show to make the crowd think they're hurt. If there's a real serious injury—you've seen the arm crossing symbol, right?"

"Yeah."

"There'll be other trainers out there anyway. They'll direct you most of the way. Ringside team assembles half an hour prior to the show's start in Gorilla. Thanks, Verity."

"No problems. Thanks for thinking of me for the opportunity."

* * *

I was buzzing as I walked the corridors of the arena, making my way to Gorilla for my first ringside shift. Despite the events of the morning and my travel predicaments, my spirits were high—that was until I ran into Dean Ambrose again. He stopped me briefly in the hallway.

"Hey, how'd it go?" he asked. The minute he brought up all of the stuff from this morning, my mood dropped again. Not only that, it made me kind of angry.

"Pretty fuckin' badly," I said, crossing my arms. "Claire busted in and told Curtis to ask you how you got the scratches on your back."

Dean smirked, which annoyed the hell out of me, frankly. "Oh," he said, managing to bring himself back to a straight face.

"Also, why did you tell Curtis that you 'had me' on the floor of your locker room? What the hell?! I thought you weren't trying to break us up like she was."

Dean looked at me oddly. "I didn't—I told Cesaro that. He must have heard from him."

"Oh! Well that's so much better, telling other random individuals. Thanks so much for that. Asshole…" I muttered the last word.

As I tried to walk off, he caught me off-guard—grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me back around a corner, hidden from the main view of traffic in the hallway.

"Look, V," he hissed, "cut the crap that you're actually really pissed with me, okay? And if I recall, you could have easily demanded that I go back to medical with you, but no, you were happy to do the massage on the floor, in private. Why was that, huh?"

He was still pinning my wrist to the wall. I kept eye contact, glaring at him, showing him I wasn't intimidated by his tough-guy act.

"And hey," he continued, "can we consider the fact that the reason you came onto _me_ last night, if I remember rightly, and why you were so ready and _willing_ to be tricked—" he brought himself closer to me as he said the ready and willing part, "—is because you wanted me, too?"

He was practically crowding me to the wall, my body not quite knowing how to react. My breathing was shallow as he leant in to put his lips quite close to my ear, confusing my senses. I shut my eyes, but it just served to amplify my other senses. My wrist tingled from where he was still grasping it.

"I'm trying to be a nice guy here," he said in a voice just above a whisper. "If you can't stand to stay in a room with Claire tonight, you know there's always room in my bed for you. No question."

I was about to inform him that that would _not _be necessary, but he didn't give me a chance. He just walked off, long legs propelling his stride around the corner and down the hallway.

* * *

Being down at ringside during _any _WWE show would have been a thrill, but to be there for a pay per view? It was exhilirating. Dr Amman was right—it was an easy gig. I basically just watched the whole show from ringside, sitting in that little corner there with the announcers and the bell.

Both Curtis and the Shield had matches tonight. As Curtis came out, I tried to avoid eye contact as he did his overly sexual dip to Summer Rae on the outside. The whole sight of him was pretty painful, to be honest. I don't know if he knew I was out there tonight, but I certainly didn't want to distract him if he happened to notice me. Needless to say, I was pretty grateful that neither Curtis nor his opponent required the services of the trainers that night.

A little further into the night, and the Shield's music hit. I've gotta say, even knowing the guys on a personal level now, it still gave me a little adrenaline rush to hear that '_Sierra, Hotel, India, Echo, Lima, Delta'_ ring out around the arena—never loses the novelty. It was Dean's US title match, so he came down alone, doing his usual menacing act. He paced around the ring, face contorting, staring down the crowd. He spotted me in the corner and winked. Great. Hopefully the cameras didn't catch that and the fangirls wouldn't obsessively try to figure out just who he was winking at… Not that I'm particularly familiar with the fangirl psyche. Nope, not me.

I got some action in that match. It was planned to go that Ambrose would beat down Antonio Cesaro so bad that he needed some medical attention. We slid into the ring and pretended to be checking on him to see if he was okay. As part of the act, Dean would come over and try to get at Cesaro while we were looking at him, scaring us, while the ref tried to hold him back. We pulled Cesaro out of the ring to a safe distance and continued to check him over while Ambrose stalked around some more.

* * *

I finished up kind of late after the pay per view. Almost all of the other superstars had gone home, except for the ones who'd been in the main event. I was doing some work on John Cena's calf, chatting absent-mindedly to him and Nikki, who was waiting for him to go back to the hotel with her, about something random. I couldn't tell you what. Given we were some of the last people there, they offered to walk with me out of the arena, so that was nice of them, I guess. I wish I could have been more congenial to them both, lovely as they are, but I was too pre-occupied. Now the night was over, thoughts of tomorrow ran through my head. All the stuff I hadn't organised. All the unfinished business with Curtis.

Back at the hotel, I took the elevator up to level 4. Before I went down to my room to get changed, I decided I may as well call in on Curtis and see if he was more willing to talk now that he'd had the entire day to think things through. Surely he'd see that I didn't mean to hurt him and that I was going to tell him the whole story. And after all, it couldn't even really be considered cheating! He never asked me to be his girlfriend, so there was no monogamy to be enforced. How could he be so angry? It was, of course, a hypocritical question to ask, considering I'd been so hurt when I thought he was doing something with Claire that I'd gone completely off the deep end and landed in the arms of Dean Ambrose.

I knocked on the door a couple times and waited in silence. I could have sworn I heard…a giggle? A shhh-ing noise? I heard Curtis's footsteps as he came to the door and opened it about eight inches. He was shirtless again, and his hair was messy again—but he had only gotten home from the arena an hour ago, surely. He never went to bed that early.

"Can we talk?" I asked meekly, anticipating the answer already.

He looked kind of sympathetic and his face softened as I stood there doing my best lost puppy impression. "Now is really not a good time," he said. His eyes shot left, back into the room—a sign that it clearly wasn't empty. Whoever was in there didn't have to call him back to bed or ask loudly who was at the door. It was all evidenced enough in his appearance, in his behavior, but most of all in his eyes. There was guilt behind them.

"Never mind," I said quickly. "Hope I didn't ruin your night." I turned and walked down the hall before he could see the tears form in my eyes.

I wiped my eyes quickly before taking my room key out of my bag and entering my hotel room, but Claire, thankfully, was in the shower. It gave me some solace to know that whoever was in Curtis's room tonight, it wasn't her. It also gave me enough time to gather my stuff together and take it out into the hallway with me before she came back into the room. No way I was facing her again tonight. Not after this.

Suddenly I found there was nowhere left to turn. I headed to the fire stairs and lugged my bags down a flight to level 3. They were heavy, and I banged my legs four or five times on the way down, but that was my penance. The physical pain blocked out the emotional. I dragged my bags to Dean's room and knocked.

He opened the door a crack, saw it was me, then opened it fully, wordlessly, and let me inside.

"I thought you'd come," he said, once I was inside.

"I just found Curtis in his room with some other chick," I said, placing my bags in one corner of the room, piling them on top of one another.

"Yeah, it's Summer," he said matter-of-factly. I didn't want to know that. I gave him a look that I'm sure expressed that sentiment exactly. "I saw them leave together," he explained. "You work out a travel plan for tomorrow yet?"

"No…" I sighed, coming over and leaning on the desk while Dean sat on his bed. "I didn't have time, I was too distracted. And there was the whole working the pay per view thing…"

I was getting all worked up. My whole body felt stressed, like in a constant state of aching. Was that what heartbreak felt like? I put my hands to my forehead and looked up at the ceiling, taking in a super deep breath, trying to calm myself. I heard Dean get up from the bed. He made his way over to me and put his hands on my shoulders.

"Chill," he said calmly. I put my hands back down at my sides and leaned into him, putting my head to his chest.

"I don't know why I came to you," I mumbled into his t-shirt. "You're the reason this whole thing is a fucking mess."

He responded by moving his arms to embrace me. "Yeah, I'm pretty used to that," he said. "I'm a chaotic sort of guy."

He was so close to me now, and it sounds nuts, but he had this sort of freshly showered but at the same time so distinctly Ambrose smell that was intoxicating. It took me back to the night before. My hands came up from my sides and I took a fistful of his shirt in my hand, the other one just sort of creeping up his torso. I couldn't control any of what my body decided it was going to do at that moment in time—I was powerless to the chemical reaction between us, so weak to his pull. Oh god, but I suddenly wanted him so bad, I couldn't stand it—my hands were all over him and under his shirt and he was just letting me, holding me steady by the waist as I looked up at him, biting my lip.

I reached up with one hand and brought myself up to him, holding onto the back of his neck. I brushed my lips against his softly, eliciting a small growl. His hand shot up from my waist to the back of my head, crushing his lips to mine in a ravenous kiss that would leave me gasping. I tried to push him back towards the bed, but he didn't budge. He gave a small, throaty laugh and pressed me back into the desk.

"Looking for a rematch?" he growled, pressing his bulging trousers into my lower stomach. "If you think you're going to dominate this time, you are very mistaken."

It sounded so much like a wrestling promo and for some reason that turned me on even more. He made quick work of both our shirts, flicked my bra off in a movement or too and then forced me around to face the desk, almost too harshly. Keeping my back flush to his chest, he toyed with my breast in one hand while reaching down to undo my pants with the other. I rolled my head back into his shoulder as he squeezed, and he twisted his head to kiss me again, biting down hard on my lower lip. I whimpered, but the pain felt good because it was physical—it washed away every other feeling I had but pure lust for Dean, for his touch.

He shoved my pants and then his own down. As I felt his member tease at my entrance, he removed his other hand from my breast and moved it to my upper back, shoving me down to bend over the desk, my cheek pressed into the glossy wood. Again, it was rough, but that was the nature of Ambrose, and I didn't want him to be gentle. Not tonight.

He traced his hand down my back to my butt, then gave me a sharp slap, which made me moan. I was pretty sure I was wet for him, and he knew it.

"You really do like punishment, don't you, angel?" he drawled, dragging his hand over my cheek and then spanking me again. Shockwaves carried through my body, making me whimper pathetically.

"Oh, baby, you look so good bent over for me," he growled. "Glad you came back so I could have you this way."

There were no words for what I was feeling right then, so I certainly couldn't use them to reply to Dean's filthy utterances. He was still teasing at my entrance, driving me mad, making me desperate, my breathing rapid and shallow. I intook a sharp breath as he finally entered me, all at once, without warning. He let out a long, guttural groan, and he kept still for one brief second, adjusting to the feel of me, letting me adjust to him. Then he was moving, shallow and short thrusts at first, then going longer and deeper, harder, increasing his pace as his grunts grew louder. As he hit my sweet spot I cried out, lifting myself off the desk. Dean responded by putting a hand over my mouth while the other one continued its vice-like grip on my hips.

"Shhh, angel..." he whispered, words interspersed by his harsh breathing. "We'll wake the neighbors."

We moved together as I moaned into his hand. I felt my climax building as he hit my sweet spot over and over again. As I tightened and clenched around him, suddenly he was the one finding it hard to be quiet, soft curses and groans coming from his lips, becoming louder as he got close to release.

I let go first, slamming my fist down on the desk as the unbearable pressure on my core was released.

"Fuck, Dean," I muttered, every thrust sending shorter, more intense pleasure shockwaves through my body. By the way he was gripping me tightly I knew he was getting close. Suddenly he pulled out.

"Turn around," he growled. I spun around to face him, still breathing heavy. "I wanna come on your face."

Like an obedient little girl I dropped to my knees and looked up at him, ready to take whatever he gave me. He stroked himself roughly and gave one final grunt and then his hot semen was coming out in spurts, landing on my face and chin.

When he was spent, he dropped down to his knees with me, surveying his handiwork, his face coming close to but not touching mine.

"You look beautiful on your knees with my cum all over your face," he said, kissing my forehead.

"Thanks," I said, a breathless laugh escaping my lips.

"Go clean yourself up and come to bed."

I was happy to follow the command. It was simpler than to think for myself. I washed my face up, took a shower and changed into the tank top and little shorts of my pajamas. When I came out of the bathroom, Dean was already laying in bed, naked to the waist, hands resting behind his head. For the second time in two nights I slid in beside him.

"Well, you may as well get a lift with us tomorrow," he said, like it was an expected thing rather than what it was, of course, which was a huge favor to me.

"Ride with the Shield?" I queried, laughing. It was a funny thing to imagine.

"Yeah."

"Claire will vomit if she sees me with you guys. She has a huge crush on Roman," I mused. "Thanks, Dean. I mean, I would've been—"

"Shh… go to sleep," he said, shaking his head. He rolled over to face me and brought my body to his, hands moving under the sheets to wrap around my waist. To keep me quiet he pressed his lips to mine in the gentlest way and kissed the thoughts from my head. Funny how a good kiss can do that.


	26. Cry for Judas

_I am just a broken machine_  
_And I do things that I don't really mean_  
_Long black night_  
_Morning frost_  
_I'm still here_  
_But all is lost_

-'Cry For Judas', The Mountain Goats

* * *

For the second morning in a row, I woke up in the arms of Dean Ambrose. Thankfully this time I was sober, so I wasn't feeling so utterly shit—physically, I mean. On a more emotional level of course, I had to face the fact that I'd just dealt with my feelings about Curtis by jumping into bed with Dean again. And that, quite frankly, didn't feel great.

Was I angry at Curtis? I guess not. What he'd done was no worse than my actions, regardless of the specifics of who knew about whose feelings at the time and whatever else. I felt a little helpless at this point—there was really nothing I could do. Curtis would decide if and when he wanted to talk to me. Badgering him certainly wouldn't help my chances, and plus, I didn't even know if his plan was to keep punishing me or if he planned on forgiving me at all.

I rolled over onto my back, having slept the night cradled into Dean's shoulder. God, and as if the situation wasn't complicated enough. What exactly did Dean want out of this? Whatever_ this_ was. The thought crossed my mind that I probably shouldn't sleep with him again. Not because I thought it'd make Curtis angrier—since we weren't in a relationship I could do whatever I liked. It's just that once you reach that three times mark with someone, everything gets a whole lot more complicated. And my life was complicated enough.

I lifted my head to glance at the alarm clock, registering that it was 8 in the morning. I had a fairly consistent body clock, even with such a crazy schedule. I didn't know what time Dean had planned to get up and get on the road, but I figured his alarm would go off soon, so I just lay there. Thinking about stuff.

Half an hour later, Dean's phone alarm went off—which, oddly, he had set to the sound of ducks quacking—and he swung an arm over to the bedside table to switch it off. He groaned and rolled over to face me, but his eyes were still squeezed shut.

"Is it time to get up?" I whispered, wide awake by this point.

"Couple more minutes," he mumbled into the crook of my neck. Clearly not a morning person then. He draped his arm over my mid-section, pulling me in tight. I felt incredibly secure, but at the same time, uneasy, and I was still thinking of Curtis, and whether he was waking up like this to Summer, and how everything was all out of kilter. I had to get up.

"Where are you going?" Dean grumbled as I extricated my limbs from his. "You're not skipping out on me again like yesterday, are you?"

"Actually I was going to take a shower if that's okay?"

"Mm—yeah, that's fine," he said, pressing his face into the pillow. I went to my bag and started to pick through for a suitable outfit for the day, also grabbing my shampoo and toothbrush.

After my shower, I gave my hair a quick rub dry—blow dryers are bad for it you know—and put on my travelling outfit, consisting of my usual black yoga pants and, today, a black t-shirt with the Beatles' Abbey Road cover silhouetted in white on the chest. Well, it was almost all black—very good for trying to blend in with the Shield.

When I emerged from the bathroom, Dean was standing up from the bed, though he kind of looked like a zombie still. I resisted the urge to go over and kiss him on the neck until he was awake, but I was worried about what that would lead to, especially considering how I was still feeling about Curtis. Also, I _just_ showered.

"You got dressed in the bathroom," he said. I squeezed some more moisture out of the ends of my hair.

"Yes?" I said, tossing the damp towel onto the bed.

"I missed it," he said, disappointment coating his voice.

I laughed. "Shouldn't have lazed around in bed then, lazy."

"Whatever," he said, stretching his arms into the air, whole body lengthened out. He was so _lean_, with his creamy skin and toned muscles and hipbones and...oh, god help me. I tried not to look but he definitely caught me. He winked at me and I kept my distance, practically up against the wall now, as he sauntered across the room, straight past me and into the shower.

Distracting myself, I went over to my bag and pulled out my phone. No calls, but one text from my mom. She checks in. It's nice. Pretty much all of my stuff was packed away after I evicted myself from mine and Claire's room last night, so at this point I was just waiting for Dean to be ready.

My stomach started to rumble—I needed some food, and some coffee wouldn't go astray either. I didn't know whether I should maybe wait for Dean to see if he wanted anything. I pulled my shoes on and then just sat there kind of ambivalently.

I heard the sounds of the shower cease and the clang of the glass door. I glanced over at the bed and saw that his clothes were laid out there. But that meant...

The bathroom door opened and Dean stepped out, towel slung loosely around his waist. His hair was dripping forward into his face, onto his chest. Oh, but he was just hanging onto the towel with one hand as it slipped down on one side to show off the crease of his thigh, and if he let go—I swallowed, hard.

"I was just going to go grab some coffee—want anything?" I said quickly, grabbing my phone and my purse.

"Not sticking around?" he said, corner of his mouth turned up.

"I'll get you a coffee," I said, groping for the door handle. Was it hot in here?

"No milk!" he called out, laughing as I scrambled for the door.

* * *

When I got back to the room with the coffee, Dean was, thankfully, dressed. He came over and hovered his hand over the cups, looking at me to direct him as to which one was his.

"They're the same," I said, picking up one of them. "Regular black."

"Thanks. Look, if you're ready, I'm ready to go."

"You kidding? I've been ready for ages," I teased. "But someone wouldn't get out of bed."

"So sue me if it's a crime to like spending time half-naked in bed with a beautiful girl."

I blushed. "Do you know if Seth and Roman are okay with me tagging along for the ride today?" I said, quite clearly changing the subject.

Dean shrugged. "They will be."

Oh, great, so they didn't even know. I mean, they're both super nice guys but I know some people can get weird about their travel arrangements.

We headed down to the lobby and out to the parking lot—Dean insisted on taking the stairs once again, which I was fine with me since it meant we wouldn't be running into Curtis, or Summer, or my worst nightmare, Curtis _and _Summer. Seth and Roman were already there, packing their stuff into a giant SUV. They waved as we walked over, but I could see the confusion on their faces when they saw me. I dropped back, but Dean took my forearm in his large hand, dragging me with him as we neared the car.

"Hey bros, we're giving V a lift to Fort Wayne—cool?" he said, lifting his own bag and then mine into the back of the car. Dean was a very... presumptuous guy.

"Only if she can handle Roman's driving," Seth said. Roman gave an evil, booming laugh as he hopped in the driver's seat. I guess it was cool, then. The rest of us jumped in and the engine roared to life.

"Seth has to be in the passenger seat because he's always screwing with the music," Dean explained, leaning towards the centre of the vehicle.

"Buckle up, kiddies," Roman called from the front. I clipped myself in and we were off.

* * *

As the sun bore down on us through the east-facing window, Dean slipped on a pair of aviator sunglasses, which made me giggle, although I suppose he pulled them off quite well. Sliding down in his seat, he stretched his legs out as far as he could under Seth's seat in front of him.

"I normally have the whole backseat to myself," he said, folding one leg on top of the other. "You're really putting me out here, sweetheart."

I gave him a look, and he just grinned. Up front, Seth was indeed screwing with the iPod connected to the car's sound system.

"Just fucking pick something, Seth," Dean groaned.

"I can't decide what I want to listen to," he replied. "Oh hey, why don't we let our esteemed guest pick." Seth tossed the iPod, anchored by a lengthy audio cable, to me in the back. I scrolled through the artist list looking for something decent.

"Oh, gee, you really need to get some real music on here, Seth," I joked, shaking my head. There was lots of hardcore, punk and metal, which I'm definitely not averse to, but I am pretty picky about what I do and don't like. Truth be told, I'm more of a classic rock girl.

"Hey, we can still kick you out of the car you know," he shot back, laughing. "I have great taste."

"Hmm…" I said, still moving through. "Okay, this'll do. I listened to this album non-stop when I was in my grunge phase."

As I hit play, the familiar drum opening of Nirvana's 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' banged through the speakers.

"You had a grunge phase?" Dean said, amused.

"Everyone had a grunge phase," I laughed. "For most of us it was called the '90s."

"You would have been like three years old when this came out!"

"Oh, sorry _grandpa_," I said sarcastically, knowing full well he was only a couple years older than me anyway. "I guess I better toss this Beatles shirt then coz I was negative-20 when _that _album came out."

"Uhh—if you're planning to take your shirt off I'm going to have to pull the car over," Roman chimed in from the driver's seat. That ended that conversation.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, I found myself in a slightly heated argument across the expanse of the car.

"Okay, Seth," I said, exasperated, "I'll admit that individually the songs on Abbey Road _are _stronger, but I think as _a whole_, Revolver is the better album."

"But how can you say that album is stronger if the songs aren't as good?" Seth retorted, flailing his arms around the cabin.

"Because you have to look at it as a whole work rather than a collection of individual songs," I said, exasperated. "It's like a wrestling match. You could do 15 amazingly difficult moves but if you also have to thread them together in a meaningful way. I'm not saying Abbey Road _doesn't_ do that, I'm just saying I think Revolver does it _better_."

At that point, Dean let out a loud sigh. "Shuuuut uuuup," he groaned. "It doesn't fucking matter. Hey, can we stop next chance we get? I need to piss."

I was about to argue that it did in fact matter, and I'm sure Seth would have backed me up, but I thought better of it. 10 or 15 minutes further down the road we hit the outskirts of Toledo, and Roman pulled off of the highway and into a gas station.

It was late morning and I still hadn't eaten, so I went into the store and bought a banana and a bottle of water. Dean went straight to the back to use the bathroom, and Seth and Roman were milling around the aisles.

"I'll be in the car," I called to Seth and Roman, who were, very cutely, poring over a fitness mag together. I ate my banana on the way back to the car and threw the peel in a trash can. I didn't really feel like getting back into the car just yet, so I leant against the hood, stretching my arms out, and closed my eyes under the warm morning sun.

I felt a set of hands place themselves on my waist. My hands flew up in front of me to a defensive position and my eyes shot open. Oh, it was just Dean.

"Jesus, Dean, you wanna warn a girl before you grope them?" I said, looking around. "Where are Seth and Roman?"

"Reading that fucking magazine." He was closing in on me, hands moving down to the hem of my shirt and then back up, underneath. The heck was he thinking?

"You sure you wanna do this with them coming out any second?" I asked, breath hitching as he bent his head down to suck on my neck.

"Stop me," he murmured. I stayed completely stationery as he continued to nip and lick upwards to the corner of my jaw. "C'mon, just tell me to stop and I'll stop."

No words came as he pinned me to the front of the car. One sneaky hand came between us to massage the outside of my pants, raising my pulse, making me grind forward. My amazing plan to not sleep with Dean Ambrose again was coming unravelled in a gas station parking lot.

"Hey, break it up you two," came Seth's voice from the rear of the car. He had a magazine under his arm. Roman had a bunch of protein bars.

"Don't make us get the hose," Roman added. Dean retreated from me and glowered over my shoulder at his fellow Shield members.

"Great, so now _they_ know," I muttered to Dean, desperately trying to calm my body temperature down from uncomfortably hot to a normal range. His scowl turned into a devilish smile as he returned his focus to me. "You fucking..." I began, the realisation dawning on me that he'd planned that perfectly. We parted ways to walk around to our respective sides and hopped into the backseat again. Immediately Dean reached for me but I swatted his hand away.

"Cool your jets, Maverick," I hissed. Then he just grinned cheekily at me again and suddenly—well fuck, I wasn't mad anymore. What?!

We spent the rest of the car ride joking and fighting in the backseat like a couple of immature kids. Seth was tuned out to the music, while Roman ended up driving the whole way, mainly because it was only a couple hours ride, so not really worth the hassle of switching seats, but apart from that, he was regarded as the fastest driver of the three (which I didn't doubt by the end of it). We were in Fort Wayne, Indiana much sooner than I realised.

"Thanks for the lift, guys," I said, jumping down from the SUV.

"Anytime," Roman said, sliding out as well.

"That must have been record time," Seth said, checking the time. "We're probably the first ones here."

I surveyed the new parking lot we were in—I was getting quite familiar with them these days.

"Not quite the first," I said, smirking as I recognised the dark red sedan. The one I'd travelled in for the last few weeks with my old BFFL. Well, this should be fun.


	27. Standing next to me

_But I can't relate to the never ending games that you play_  
_As desire passes through and you're open to the truth_  
_I hope you understand_  
_And your love_  
_Is standing next to me_

-'Standing Next to Me', The Last Shadow Puppets

* * *

We had a show to prepare for in the evening, so it was just a matter of checking into the hotel, having a short amount of time to unwind, then getting ready for work and making our way down to the venue. As I lugged my suitcase into the lobby—Dean walking behind me talking to Roman, Seth alongside me trying to argue the point of Abbey Road versus Revolver again—I saw a familiar figure at the reception desk.

Ah, there she was. Claire turned around to witness the sight of me, flanked by the Shield, and her face said it all. I may have still been hurting on the inside, but I could always make it appear to her like I had come out on top. While she waited for the clerk to finish processing her check-in, I made a point to go over to Roman and rib him about his driving, pretending to still be shaken up about it. He did that big booming laugh again and put a big arm around my shoulder, pulling me in for a side hug. Grabbing her key from the clerk, she scarpered for the elevators.

"You enjoyed that too much," Dean said, leaning over my shoulder as Roman let me go.

"Revenge can take many forms," I replied, staring after her. Of course, the sweetest revenge of all would be to go back to Curtis, work out our differences, and maybe, if the stars aligned, be able to get together properly. Until that looked a chance of happening, though, I had the Shield, and Dean. For as long as he was happy to have me, I guess. It seemed a good deal for him—this was, after all, what he had wanted.

After Seth and Roman checked in—I was quickly realising that 'Seth and Roman' was a pretty common phrase in the world of the Shield—I walked up to the desk and attempted my nicest smile on the young male who was sitting behind it.

"Hi, I'm technically meant to be rooming with that girl who just checked in, but I'm actually going to need to have a separate room—is there any way you can swing that for me?" I said. Obviously since I hadn't had time to reorganise my travel yesterday, I also hadn't had time to reorganise my accommodation. Figured I'd try my luck. The guy behind the desk nodded, but soon started to frown slightly as he looked through the computer system.

"I'm afraid we have no extra rooms available—we're all booked out because of the WWE tour," he said, looking adequately but professionally sympathetic.

"Oh…" I said, trying to think of a different way to angle it. There had to be _something_.

"So I guess you can either stay in the same room with Ms Gosford, or I can contact another hotel for you to see if they have any vacancies. We have had a lot of out-of-towners come in for the show, so you may be out of luck there also. I'm really sorry about that."

"No, umm, that's fine, I'll—" A tap on the shoulder came. Dean was looking at me with that 'you know the answer to this predicament' kind of face.

"You've done enough for me already, Dean," I said quietly, turning away from the desk.

He ignored me and turned to the clerk. "Move her to my room—we'll check in together."

"Sure," said the clerk. "That I can do."

He finished with our check-in and gave us a room key each. So we were officially roomies now.

"Quick question," I said as we crossed the lobby. "How come you get a room to yourself but Seth and Roman share?"

"They snore," he replied simply.

"Oh, okay… I don't snore."

"No, you definitely don't. So you can bunk with me as long as you like."

"Once again my knight in shining armor," I sighed as Dean pushed open the door to the stairwell. This time his—our?—room was on the sixth floor, which was excessively high up to be taking the stairs, I thought. At least our bags had been taken by the concierge. "Just so you know I hate owing people," I added.

"You don't owe me anything. Just don't slow me down on the stairs and don't wake me before half past eight in the morning."

I took that as a challenge, racing past him on the inside up the next flight. He chased after me. With my head start I managed to stay in front up the first three flights, blocking him with my arms whenever he tried to pass me. However, with his longer legs he started to take the steps two at a time, while I could only manage one. He overtook me as we turned the corner on the fourth flight, and when I tried to throw my arm out to block him again, he caught it and pinned me to the railing.

"Don't play dirty, V," he said, breathing slightly rapid. "That's my game." Then he dashed off and I was left the one to chase.

I found him leaning against the wall in front of a giant painted number 6. I tried to act cool, putting my hands on my hips like I wasn't out of breath, and he just stood there with an eyebrow raised, smirking at me.

"Shut up," I said, pushing the door open to the sixth floor corridor.

He followed me out, and I have to give him credit, he managed to keep from gloating for a good, oh, four or five seconds. The room numbers started at 600 and 601, across from each other, and ours was 620, so a fair way down the hall.

"I mean you probably need to up your fitness, cardio-wise," he said, casually coming up beside me. I elbowed him in the gut, shoving him sideways, and ran off down the hall. Maybe in a dead sprint I could…but once again, he caught up, a few doors before I got to our room.

"Okay Stretch, congrats on the impressive stride length," I said sarcastically as he sailed past me, arms out wide. "The room's here by the way." He'd gone way past it. I started to fiddle with the electronic lock, but the card kept getting rejected. The little red light of doom flashed.

"Man, you just kinda suck at everything, don't you?" Dean said, coming over, laughing at my futile attempts to access the room.

"You are the absolute fucking worst, you know that?" His hands were inching towards the lock, wanting to take over. I tried to block him—I had to master this fucking door myself.

"Get out the waaaay," he pleaded. He grabbed my hand that was holding the key and tried to take it from me.

"You have your own!" I said, tugging it away, beginning a small war I knew I'd lose. The tug-of-war turned into kissing so fast—I was pressed up against the door I had been trying to open, mouth open to his, and he was hungrily biting my lip, releasing all the pent up frustration from the morning. Then I realised he'd gently curled his fingers around my hand and taken the key right out of it. Once he knew he had it he pulled back, and my mouth, lips already parted, fell open further.

"_That_ is cheating," I said, punching him in the bicep as he went for the lock.

"Not my fault you're easily distracted," he shot back. I laughed out loud when he tried the lock and it still didn't work.

"Maybe you have to try it slower," I said, reaching for the key again.

"What, you get a billon tries and I only get one?" he said, batting my hand away, then trying it again at the same speed.

"Do it slower!" I cried, still laughing. This door was more trouble than it was worth.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he growled.

My smartass reply was stopped in my throat before it even began as I saw him coming down the corridor. Curtis. Dean saw the smile drop from my face and turned his head.

"Hey, bro," Dean said as Curtis moved to his room door. Silently I took the key out of Dean's hand and slotted it, slowly, into the lock. The light flashed green and the door clicked open. Thank god.

"Hey," I heard Curtis's reply as I entered. A moment later, Dean followed, scratching the back of his head.

"That wasn't awkward at all," he said. It was meant to be a joke but I didn't feel like laughing. My good mood had been killed.

* * *

For the show that night I was still filling in at ringside, but I would apparently go back to normal duties at the end of the week. Dammit. Either way I didn't really mind—I was still working in basically my dream job. Although, as I was conscious of that fact, I was reminded that the only reason I'd got the job was because Curtis had let me know about it. Because he'd wanted me to be around, on tour.

Was that the reason he was so pissed at me, maybe? He'd brought a toy to the party, hadn't claimed it properly, and then gotten annoyed when other people had wanted to play with it? Okay, so comparing myself to an inanimate object is probably not ideal, but still. And let's not forget that _he_—ugh, stop. I had to get those thoughts out of my head. I had been pre-occupied with them all night, and re-analyzing the situation wasn't helping.

After the show, I walked back to the medical area to see if there was any work left to be done. And when I say 'work' I really mean any wrestlers with minor ouchies. Sheamus was sitting there, still in his ring gear, resting his elbow on his knee.

"There you are! What does a guy have to do to get some service round here?" he said jokingly.

"Hey, sorry, man, we've been short-staffed the last few nights," I replied. "Hammie again?"

"Yeah."

That was his usual complaint, since, you know, he was always brogue kicking around the place. I liked working with Sheamus, not only because it was fun to see my arms in comparison to his lily white legs and imagine myself super tanned, but because he came up with the most random banter while you were essentially inches from his groin. Not tonight, however.

"So, are you still hanging out with my boy Curtis?" he asked as I pushed and kneaded at his hamstring. Well, at least someone hadn't heard.

"Umm, no, not really—we were never…" I trailed off.

"That's alright, sensitive subject, didn't realise—anyway! How's the hammie feeling?"

"Pretty tight. You need to stretch."

"You always tell me that."

"Because you never do. Seriously, you're going to properly hurt it one day."

"But you always fix me," he laughed. I shrugged. He could take my advice or leave it.

* * *

I trudged the long expanse of the arena to leave for the night—there were still superstars milling around the place. I figured the Shield boys would be back at the hotel by now.

But wouldn't you know it—now Claire wasn't actively working to keep me and Curtis from seeing each other anymore, we seemed to run into each other all the damn time. He was stood off to the side, invading the personal space of not Summer Rae, which surprised me, but Aksana. She seemed more than okay with it. Gosh, maybe he was working his way through the divas roster. He glanced up at me as I walked straight past him and out of the arena. I might have kicked a trash can in the parking lot.

I took the elevator up to level 6—screw Dean's little habit. The elevators were closer to our room anyway. When I walked in it looked like he was already showered and pretty much ready for bed, wearing shorts and a t-shirt, reading a book.

"I didn't know you read books," I said, placing my bag down on the table.

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me," he said, barely looking up.

I was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. One tends to influence the other. I couldn't shake that horrible pitted feeling in my stomach—the one that just nags at you because you feel fine and then suddenly you remember that everything is not alright. I only knew of one surefire way to cure it. Luckily, it was laying on the bed in front of me.

Walking over to stand directly in his line of vision, I stripped off my WWE polo shirt and tossed it to the top of my suitcase. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dean's book lower to just below his eye line. Smirking, I faced away from him and unbuttoned my pants, letting them fall to the floor. Stepping out of them, I turned back around to see that he was still pretending (badly) to read.

"You might want to put a bookmark in," I said, stepping towards the foot of the bed, and for once he actually did what he was told.


	28. Give me Novacaine

_Out of body and out of mind  
Kiss the demons out of my dreams  
I get the funny feeling that's alright_

-'Give me Novacaine', Green Day

* * *

Dean pressed an old receipt—probably the one he got when he bought the thing—into the centre of his book and placed it on the bedside table, his eyes never moving from me. Placing two hands on the bed I crawled up until I was over him, his hands immediately moving to my waist, one of my legs on his outside and the other very purposefully pressed up against his groin.

He shifted against me, holding me in place, allowing me to feel his cock already growing hard. I dipped down to capture his lips softly and slowly, staying propped up above him, using my leverage to pull away whenever he got too… carried away.

"It occurs to me that I haven't really thanked you properly for everything you've done, and I really should return such a huge favor," I said, moving my lips down against his neck.

"I'm pretty sure you have—" Dean said, sucking a breath in sharply as I bit down on his neck, "—thanked me. But don't stop on that account."

I needed to get rid of his shirt. Changing my position so I was now straddling him, I sat up and tugged at the bottom, pulling it upwards. He got the message and helped pull it over his head. As I ducked back down to quickly bite his lip, he reached his hand around my back and unhooked my bra, making us even above the waist. He made a grab for my breast but I caught his hand, taking the other one as well, and he let me pin them above his head. Just like in pro wrestling, if he had tried to stop me I wouldn't have been able to do it, but he wanted me to—to be in charge. Who'd have thought?

I moved back down to his neck, letting my hands roam the expanse of his chest and abs, then trailed down the rest of his body with my tongue, intermittently flicking my eyes up to see him watching me intently, hands resting behind his head now, lips slightly parted, until I reached the tent in his shorts. I pulled them down past his hips, savouring the slow reveal, knowing every inch was driving him crazier as he left me to my own devices.

His erection sprung free, I gave it a tentative lick with the tip of my tongue from the base to the head, and oh—the strangled moan he let out was so very satisfying. A small bead of precum had formed on his tip, which I licked up before taking him all the way into my mouth, sliding down as far as I could let him in. His hand shot directly to my head, fisting into my hair.

"Shit! V…" he gasped. I kept moving my head up and down, hollowing my cheeks slightly, using one of my hands to wrap around the base of his cock, massaging in a rhythm with the little movements he was making with his hips. His eyes were squeezed shut, but every so often they'd fly wide open to look down at me, brow furrowed, this intense look on his face. His mouth opened and closed as small, involuntary noises escaped, almost desperate little moans.

I was about to inquire whether I should stop in case he wanted to continue the fun in other ways when I felt him spasm and warm liquid land in the back of my throat. I swallowed as he gave it to me, enjoying the raspy groans coming out of his mouth. The swallowing part is never particularly pleasant but given the lack of warning I didn't really have a choice. Sitting back between his legs as his abdomen expanded and contracted with heavy breaths, eyes closed, mouth open, in this instance it seemed worth it. I imagine I would have had a pretty fucking self-satisfied look on my face right about then.

"Oh my god," he mumbled, opening his eyes finally. "You're fucking welcome."

I giggled and slipped off the bed backwards, aiming for the bathroom to rinse my mouth out.

I cupped my hands under the tap and slurped the water in, swishing the first handful around my mouth and spitting, then swallowing the second. When I looked back up, I saw Dean behind me in the mirror. His hands went to my hips and he tucked his fingers under the elastic of my black boyshorts, slowly pushing them down to my thighs. I went to turn around but he stopped me, putting one hand up to cup my chin, forcing me to keep my eyes on him in the mirror's reflection.

"Eyes front," he whispered, moving that hand from my face to my mid-section while the other snaked its way up my thigh to my dripping core. Dean's orgasm had gotten me more than a little riled up. He used the hand between my thighs to push my legs further apart, bending me over the sink. Keeping eye contact with me through the mirror, he let a finger slide through my folds, making me cry out as his finger flicked over my hypersensitive mound.

He traced circles around it while his other arm kept me suspended above the sink, his chin coming to rest on my shoulder. He turned his head inwards, still glancing at me out of the corner of his eye, breathing heavy on my neck, roughly whispering strings of curses, asking me if I liked it, telling me how wet I was. My whole body was alight, every muscle taut, senses overloaded.

"Fuck!" I cried out, keening into him as he entered me with two long slender fingers. My eyes screwed themselves shut as he ruthlessly fucked me with his hand, tension and fullness building in my centre.

"Look at me," he growled, and I forced myself to open my eyes again. The sight was all it took—Dean with his mouth open onto my neck, concentrating on my noises, holding me tight with one arm while he ground me with the other. I came, eyes wide open, looking into his, shockwaves pulsing through me as I slumped forward over the sink. As he pulled out of me I looked up to see him in the mirror, putting his fingers into his mouth. I smiled up at him helplessly, feeling too weak to right myself properly. He looped an arm under my torso and scooped me up.

"That's how I return a favor," he said as I reached for my underwear, which were resting halfway down my thighs. We exited the bathroom together.

"Okay, then. I'm just gonna…" The bed zoomed in on my face. I rolled over to the far side until I was face down on a pillow. Exhaustion reclaimed me.

"At least get under the damn sheets if you're gonna sleep like that," Dean said, referring to the fact I was still topless with only my boyshorts covering my lower half. Begrudgingly, even though I was still pretty warm from everything that just happened, I wriggled my way under the covers. I felt Dean land on the bed beside me, but I don't know what he did after that, because I was asleep.

* * *

For the first time in several days I woke up with a smile on my lips. I had zero negative thoughts about certain individuals and, best of all, there was no show tonight, so I had nothing really to do, save for being 'on call' for most of the day. I was facing away from the middle of the bed, so I rolled over to look at Dean—he wasn't there. Eh? Looking at the fuzzy hotel alarm clock, I saw that it was 8:45am, so I guess it was possible that he'd gotten up already. As for me, I'd overslept by my own standards, but as there was not much on the cards for the day, I justified myself in staying in bed at least until Dean came back and I found out where he'd got to.

He walked through the door a couple minutes before 9am with…coffee? I sat up, sheets pinned under my arms, gesturing madly towards the cups as he placed them on the table.

"Nuh uh, you have to get out of bed if you want coffee," he said, taking a sip from his. "Mm, it's really hot."

I groaned. Hot coffee… I looked around—there were no clothes within arms reach. I had cleverly placed them all in my suitcase the night before.

"Can you toss me a shirt?" I asked sweetly, since he was sitting right next to them.

"You weren't so concerned about modesty last night. Get it yourself."

Fine, if that's the way he wanted to play it. I tossed the covers off and swung my legs out of the bed. As I stood up, facing away from Dean, I stretched my arms up to the ceiling, elongating my body. I turned around and he was just watching, coffee at his lips, but he wasn't drinking.

I had to walk directly past him to get to my suitcase—I just wanted to throw something on to cover up before I went in the shower. He pawed at me as I passed in front of him, hand sliding across my lower stomach. I ignored him and went right on to my suitcase, pulling on my loose WWE polo from the previous night, then I took my coffee and went and sat on the bed.

"Thanks," I said, putting the coffee to my lips.

"It's cool." He opened his mouth to say something else, but then stopped.

"You were up early this morning," I said, trying to prompt the conversation onwards. Every silence between us started to feel like that awkward morning-after that I just completely abhor. I became conscious of the fact that I had in fact passed my self-created 'doing it with someone three times' milestone, which meant things were going to get more complicated from here on out. I didn't really know what to expect out of a guy like Dean Ambrose when it came to that. Although, technically we hadn't really…had sex. I was a bit confused as to what that meant for my little diagnostic. I think it still counts.

"Yeah, well you conked out at like 11:30 and it was pretty boring after that so I just kind of went to sleep, too," he said.

"Yeah, things did kind of hit their peak…" I smirked. Another awkward pause. C'mon, Dean, what is _up_? Normally no one can shut the guy up, he's always running his mouth. I thought to ask him if the weather was nice outside, but I didn't think he'd be one for inane chatter like that. Suddenly he spoke up.

"Look, I've been witness to your stupid games with Curtis, and I'm not making the same mistake, because you clearly have a hard time working out what people want from you," he said, taking a deep breath. "And I know you're not used to this business, but the fact of the matter is that things move fast here, and people move faster. So I'm moving fast."

Leaving his coffee on the table, he moved over to the bed and sat down in one fluid movement—very gracefully, I thought, too. I tilted my head at him.

"I want you to be mine," he said. "Like you never were with Curtis. And I'll be yours, too, if that's what you want."

Oh, Jesus. Those were clear terms indeed. It wasn't the most traditional way the question had ever been put in my experience, but what about Dean Ambrose could you say _was_ traditional?

"Boy, you should put that on a Hallmark card," I said, in classic Verity fashion, un-fucking-able to take anything seriously at first glance. It was probably not a great response, but I needed the time to process it through my head and work out what my actual answer would be.

When I thought about it, Dean had been starkly honest with me, he could make me smile—in fact, he had this weird ability to drain all the anger out from me—and, of course, I was attracted to him. I thought about Curtis, and how he'd never been this upfront, and all of his new pre-occupations, and couldn't think of a reason why I shouldn't very well say yes to Dean. It wasn't like we were getting married or something. From the way he said it, it just meant that we would, for lack of a better word, have an exclusive relationship. Nothing serious.

After a lengthy pause, I looked up at him and sipped my coffee again. It was hot and bitter and it made me feel alive.

"I'm yours," I said.


	29. Everlong

**Okay this is admittedly somewhat of a fluffy chapter. However there is still important plot development!**

* * *

_If everything could ever feel this real forever_  
_If anything could ever be this good again_  
_The only thing I'll ever ask of you_  
_You've got to promise not to stop when I say when_

-'Everlong', Foo Fighters

* * *

After I said the words that made Dean and me kind of official, I guess, Dean took my coffee away from me, much to my protest, and reached over to set it on the table beside his own. He did that, it seemed, so that he could kiss me, pulling my body up against his, then tugging my leg over his lap so that I was straddling him. His hands worked their way under my shirt, hot against my skin. Things were getting kind of heated, and I could feel my body ready to pick up where things left off last night, but then my phone rang.

"Leave it," he said, grabbing my wrist as I tried to shift off of him.

"Can't," I said. "Might be work-related. I'm on call today."

Reluctantly he let me go, and it was indeed a work call. I dealt with it and went back over to Dean, picking up my coffee from the floor.

"Okay, I have to go do some work things now," I said, quickly downing the now slightly lukewarm liquid.

"What are you doing for the rest of the day though?"

"I don't know," I said, walking over to ferret in my suitcase for some fresh clothes. I threw them behind me onto the bed. Standing up, I took a hair band off my wrist and tied my hair up—it didn't really need a wash this morning. "Explore, maybe? I've never been to Fort Wayne before."

"I have. There's nothing to explore."

"There's always something to explore," I said smiling over my shoulder as I walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

"Hey you forgot your clothes," Dean called through the door.

"I know!"

* * *

After my shower, I wrapped the towel around my chest and peeked my head out the door, steam escaping into the room. Dean was half-laying on the bed, scrolling through his phone. I walked out, fully aware of the risk I was taking by getting dressed in front of him, especially when I had things to do before the morning was over. But I thought it'd be fun.

Dean put his phone down on the table next to him. "Come here," he said. "Right now."

"I have to go..." I said, unconvincingly.

"Shouldn't have paraded around in your towel then."

My clothes were on the bed anyway, so I couldn't avoid going near him. I tried to pick up my panties but Dean lunged forward and grabbed them from me.

"Hey…" I said.

"Come. Here." He was scrunching them up in his hand now. I sighed and walked over to him, standing at the side of the bed. He took my hand and pulled me over him, straddling him, for the second time this morning, in my towel. He moved his hands up to where my towel was tucked in at my chest and brought the fabric out. Holding one end to my body, he let the other fall away, then brought the rest of the towel down so that it pooled behind me.

Dean made a noise of approval as I sat on his hips, naked and still slightly damp. His hands ran up my thighs and over my hips, sending shivers to my core. Even though I was open and exposed to him he was avoiding my most sensitive areas, skirting around my inner thighs, tracing over my ribcage. I bit my lip and closed my eyes as his hand hovered over my core, so close I could feel the heat from his hands but there was no pressure applied. I whimpered, craving the friction. He lightly pressed one finger into my open folds then slid it out again, causing me to breath in sharply and follow his hand with my pelvis. He chuckled darkly, pulling both his hands away. I sat there above him, breathing hard, completely baffled.

"You better get dressed and go to work," he said.

"What?" I said, disbelief across my face.

Dean smirked. "I said you better get dressed, like now, before I don't let you leave this room and you need to go have another shower."

"Noted." I jumped off of him and dressed in record time, hoping that the sooner I covered up the sooner that uncomfortable aching feeling in my core would go away. It kind of did, but not really.

When we're not working a show, I'm pretty much allowed to wear whatever I want, so long as it's sufficiently professional. You know, no bikini tops or whatever. I chucked on a Beatles t-shirt, green this time—I own more than one okay?—light grey skinny leg jeans and my WWE identification card, which wasn't strictly necessary, but as a relative newbie it did help make me more easily identifiable as a company rep.

* * *

So, I went down to the truck where we keep all our trainer stuff. There were two calls to make: Chris Jericho had known issues with his back, and Cody Rhodes had felt fine when he left the arena last night, but had woken up with a stiff shoulder.

I went to Chris first with some supplies, including a sizeable stock of kinesio tape. I'll be honest, out of everyone I've treated so far on the roster, Chris Jericho is the only one still able to make me feel like a giddy, hyperventilating 13-year-old. What? I dug the Sexy Beast, okay?

I knocked on his door, trying to be cool. Jericho usually just went straight to the head doctor, being a veteran and all, so I didn't get to see him all that often.

"Hi, Chris, I'm here for the doc," I said, lifting up my bag of supplies.

"Oh, cool, come in," he said. "Verity, right? Nice t-shirt. You like the Beatles?"

"Of course!" I said, placing the bag on the table near the door. "In fact I was just arguing about them with Rollins yesterday. He thinks Abbey Road is better than Revolver."

"Abbey Road _is _better than Revolver," he retorted.

"Not you too!" I cried in mock horror. This was the most relaxed I'd ever been around Jericho. I was rather proud of myself.

After working out a knot and applying some black kinesio tape to his lower back, he thanked me and, being the consumate Beatles fan and all-around nice guy that he is, proceeded to make more conversation with me as I packed up.

"So who's your favorite Beatle?" he asked. "Mine's George. Totally underrated guitarist."

"Well, on that we agree, at least! He never got the recognition he deserved. I mean, Here Comes the Sun, I Me Mine..."

"Amen to that, sister. Well, thanks, Verity. Good talking to you—see you around!" He smiled his completely dashing, disarming smile at me and I left. Regardless of the fact I was now in a relationship with Dean (which still sounded very weird to say, I might add), if Jericho hadn't been happily married, with children, nearly two decades older than me and a pretty devout Christian at that... oh yeah. You're damn right I would. In a heart beat.

After Chris, I went down the hall to see Cody. He answered the door shirtless, as wrestlers often do.

"I'm here about a shoulder," I said, barging straight in. Clearly I was more a bit more relaxed around Cody. I put my bag of stuff down on the table and instructed him to sit. Feeling around his shoulder, I got him to stretch it out first, then reached into my bag for the kinesio tape.

"Color preference?" I asked, pulling out some pink, blue and black tape. "I think the pink is quite fetching."

Cody laughed. "I think I'm gonna go with... blue."

Acting sad, I threw the pink and black tape back in the bag and sighed. "No one ever wants the pink."

"Not even the divas?"

"Stretch your shoulder out across your chest for me? No, well, I don't really treat the divas," I said, smoothing the tape across his skin, following the muscle. "They don't wrestle often enough to get stress injuries."

"Yeah, I guess."

I rubbed my hands over the tape to get the adhesive to stick down and then I was finished. Cody gave his shoulder a bit of a swing.

"Feels better already," he said.

"Don't flatter me, Rhodes," I said, laughing. "It'll start to feel better in a few hours. You know the drill: keep it on for the next three or four days, five max. Any more problems, don't try and soldier on, go to the doc."

I'd learnt to adopt an authoritative tone with my wrestlers. They took you more seriously that way.

"Yes, ma'am."

I started to pack up. "Anything else giving you trouble?"

"Nah, I'm good. Hey, I heard about you and Curtis."

"Oh." But _what_ had he heard was the real question.

"I don't know what happened exactly but—I know he still cares about you. Don't be too hard on each other, okay?"

"I'm not gonna be, Cody. He's the one not speaking to me." It probably came out harsher than it needed to.

"Sorry, I know it's not my business."

"No, but it's okay. I'm learning everything is everyone's business around here sooner or later."

Cody laughed. "Yeah, sooner you figure that out the easier it gets."

"Here's hoping," I sighed and picked up my bags.

What Cody had said hadn't changed anything. If I was with Dean for the specific purpose of rebounding from Curtis, then maybe it would have, but that wasn't what it was anymore. In fact, I think it took hearing what Cody had to say to realise that. I was with Dean because he'd been there for me, and because I liked him.

This fact was underlined when I got back to the room, having cleared the rest of the day work-wise. Dean had been to the gym in the intervening time, and his hair was damp from showering.

"Good workout?" I asked as I sat on the bed, delving into my bag to get my laptop out. I just needed to enter a few lines about what I'd done for Cody and Chris.

"Yeeep," he said, falling onto the bed with me.

"Did you stretch?" I asked, not looking up from the screen.

"Yeees," he sighed. "God, you're not on the clock still, are you?"

"I'm always on the clock."

"If I take you out around Fort Wayne will you stop bugging me about stretching?"

"Maybe. No promises." I was surprised that he offered to go out with me rather than make me stay in the room with him, and a little skeptical about what a day out with Dean Ambrose would entail.

* * *

As I'd expected, Dean was less than enthusiastic about the sights and attractions that Fort Wayne had to offer. He was leading the way, but he didn't seem to be really looking around. I stopped to read the inscription on a memorial which looked interesting, and it took him a few seconds, walking on, to realise I wasn't with him still.

"_What _are you reading?" he said, coming back, placing his hands on my waist.

"This," I said, pointing.

"Are you done?"

As he was being so adorably impatient, I made a point to read every single letter of the plaque, carefully, and then said, "Yes."

"Okay, come on then!" He pulled me by the hand, which without my realising turned into him just holding my hand. I figured this was his way of making sure I didn't get distracted by things on the street. So sue me if I like to take notice of interesting things in a new town.

"Where are you in such a freakin' hurry to get to anyway?" I said, taking big strides to keep up with him. I normally walk fast, too, but our pace was making everything on the sidewalk blurry.

"I'm hungry. You wanna go eat?" he said.

"Yeah, sure."

"Okay, I know a place."

It was a pizzeria, relatively quiet, with gingham-patterned table cloths and carafes of water on each table. You know an establishment is on the classy side if their water comes in a carafe rather than a regular old bottle.

"They do huge pizzas for like, six or seven bucks," he explained as we walked to a table set for two.

"Dean Ambrose, are you courting me?" I eyed him suspiciously.

He eyed me right back. "Nope," he said matter-of-factly. "I already saw you naked this morning, so technically I don't really need to put any effort in. I'm just doing it cuz I wanna. And I'm hungry."

"And 6 dollar pizzas, right. I knew you were a romantic at heart," I deadpanned. Dean laughed and then winked at me across the table.

I watched in amazement as Dean wolfed down his pizza. I barely got through half of mine.

"How do you eat that much but stay that skinny?" I asked.

He shrugged, swallowing a mouthful. "I've always had trouble putting on weight."

"I hate people like you," I said, rolling my eyes. "'Oh, I eat so much but I never gain weight!' Go eat a dick is what I say."

"Eh, shove it up your skinny ass, princess, you got nothing to complain about."

They let me take my uneaten pizza away, even putting it in a sealed disposable plastic container for me.

"You have to share that later," Dean said, pointing, as we left. "Couples share."

"And what do I get in return for sharing _my _pizza?" I asked, putting the container in my bag. I acted like I was annoyed about sharing the pizza, but in reality, he'd probably have to help me finish it off anyway or it'd go to waste. I don't think I can put into words how freaking massive the pizzas were.

"The joy of making your boyfriend happy?" His use of the term boyfriend kind of jolted me. I was going to have to get used to this.

"Your happiness is dependent on pizza?"

"Pizza, and other things," he said, hand creeping down to the small of my back. Like I needed an interpreter to figure out what 'other things' meant.

* * *

Later that evening, we shared our second pizza meal of the day, and I was already kind of over it by the second slice.

"I think my blood is congealing into tomato sauce," I moaned.

"Mmm, pizza," Dean said in response.

"Do you wanna, like, watch something on TV or my laptop?" I asked. I felt it might be nice to just shut up and watch something for a change.

"TV sucks. What have you got on your computer?"

"You can just look if you want." I opened it up and plugged in my portable hard drive, where I kept all my video files. I have a lot. Three folders, organised into 'Movies', 'TV' and 'Wrasslin' opened up in the explorer.

"Wrasslin?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"You think I'm in this industry for yucks? Check it out. I digitised a whole bunch of stuff from my home collection before I came out on tour."

Dean's eyes widened as he clicked and a plethora of files appeared. "I could not be more attracted to you right now."

"I figured it'd either turn you on or scare you off," I shrugged.

"On. Definitely on. I kind of feel like a wrestling-free day, though. You got any good movies?"

I opened the movies folder and let him pick.


	30. The Hollow

_Screaming feed me here_  
_Fill me up again_  
_Temporarily pacify this hungering_

-'The Hollow', A Perfect Circle

* * *

Maybe a week and a half after Fort Wayne, I was holed up with Dean in a boring hotel room in another town watching Wrestlemania 15 from my collection on my laptop.

"Can you believe this shit was 14 years ago?" Dean said, leaning back against the bed frame. "Swear it was fucking yesterday."

"Well you could be forgiven. Considering Triple H, The Rock and the Undertaker just headlined 'Mania 29."

"Touche."

The hardcore match and Owen Hart's match held our attention for the full span, but I groaned and put my head into Dean's shoulder when I realised the infamous 'Brawl for All' was up next, making him laugh.

"This isn't even a good pay per view… why did you choose this?" I moaned.

"Cuz you didn't have 13 or 14. C'mon, this goes for literally 30 seconds."

"You know what I'd prefer to watch?" I said, jumping onto his lap, blocking his view of the screen.

"Hey! …what?"

"One of your indie matches. The ones you talked about—with the saw?"

Dean laughed. "You got the stomach for that, baby?"

"But you said it was fake."

"Yeah but I'm a really good actor."

"Pfft, we'll see. Is it on YouTube?" I rolled off him and pulled the laptop up to us, clicking to open a browser.

"Yeah, I think so…"

I pushed the laptop to him. "Search."

He raised an eyebrow at me, pursed his lips and raised his fingers above the keyboard, slowly punching in the terms 'Jon Moxley Brain Damage CZW'.

"Brain Damage?" I asked, screwing my face up.

"My opponent. Good guy. Died last year, actually."

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry."

He just shrugged. The first result that popped up was the full match. After a few seconds, a young Dean Ambrose—or Jon Moxley rather—no more than 23 years old, swaggered out, talking shit, antagonising the crowd.

"Oh my god, look at you, you adorable motherfucker," I said, a huge grin spreading across my face.

He coughed. "You wouldn't say that if you knew me back then."

I looked at Dean and then back to the video, mesmerised by the way this cocky motherfucker was playing to the crowd. It was, quite frankly, turning me on. In a big way.

"No?" I queried, pulling myself up flush against his body, bringing my mouth up to his ear lobe, using my warm breath and tongue to play with it. "What would 'Jon Moxley' have done if I bumped into him in a back alley somewhere?"

Dean pushed the laptop out from between us and flipped me on my back. "You sure you want to find out, angel?"

"I'm thinking I do." He was pressing his whole upper body down on mine. I writhed under him, freeing my hands to bring his head closer.

"You like bad guys, do you?" he growled, wrenching my pants open with his hand.

"Mmph—yes," I gasped out. His lips were on my neck now and he was sucking my skin into his mouth, hard, making me shut my eyes.

"I can tell," he sneered, roughly sliding his hand down into my folds. "Cuz you're so wet for me after watching like 20 seconds of that video."

I stifled a moan as his finger slipped inside of me and he roughly pumped me three or four times. "You want Jon Moxley to fuck you? Cuz he can, but he won't be gentle about it. Turn the fuck over."

He ripped his hand out of my pants and flipped me so I was now laying on my stomach. He dragged my pants and underwear the rest of the way down and off my legs, then unzipped his own pants. Was he... was he already hard? He hadn't been 15 seconds ago. Not that I could really tell what was going on behind me anyway at this point.

He pulled me up onto my knees but he spread them so far apart my stomach was basically touching the bed anyway. He held himself over me and I felt the tip of him at my entrance, sending sparks of electricity up through the rest of my body. All at once he thrust in, grabbing my hair and pulling my whole body back onto him. I was so full it hurt.

"Deeean," I moaned, head yanked back as he drove into me over and over again.

"No, what's my name?" he hissed, pulling harder on my hair.

"Mmm—Mox!" I cried, head spinning from the pleasure in my core and the pain on my scalp and in my neck.

"That's a good girl," he purred. "Be a good little ring-rat slut for me."

"Oh fuck!" But he was pounding me so hard and I couldn't see anything but the ceiling.

"So hot for me, little slut."

The dirty talk was driving me insane. It was easy to imagine him doing the same thing to countless other girls, he was so in-character, so... _Moxley_. And I had barely known what that meant at the start, but the way he was fucking me now, I knew. Every thrust was a meaningful display of anger, carelessness and sadism.

I went over before he did, whimpering and keening against him, desperate for more friction as I climaxed, clenching, unable to let go. My spasms around his cock set him off, too.

"Oh, god, baby," he choked out, falling forward and basically just humping the shit out of me with his hips, panting into my ear until he was spent.

As he rolled off, I rolled onto my back.

"So that was what they call, uhh—'explicit Mox violence', huh?" I said, breathing hard, t-shirt sticking to my body from the sweat we'd worked up.

"Yeah. If you liked that I might have to bring him out of retirement more often," Dean said lazily, propping himself up on his elbows, looking down the bed. The YouTube video had come to an end long ago.

"One of these days we'll actually finish something we start watching," I sighed.

"That was all you this time, angel," Dean said. "Now do you want to watch this match or are you just going to jump me again if I hit play?"

"I want to watch the match. I can't say what will or won't happen after that."

* * *

The next night was a work night. The Shield guys had this cute little ritual of always going to the arena together. By the time I got to the arena, they would usually have already been there for a little while. Alone, I walked down the long, blank hallway to wherever we'd decided to set up medical for the night. You get to know the layout of arenas after a while. I wasn't really looking up—I was laughing to myself, replying to a text from my mom, who had wanted to tell me that she'd seen me on Raw the other night taking care of an 'oily gentleman'. I love how, in the world of pro wrestling, when someone refers to an 'oily gentleman', you have to ask them to be more specific.

I glanced up to make sure my path ahead was clear, and that was when I noticed Curtis coming towards me, who I hadn't spoken to since… well, since the incident. He smiled at me. What?! I attempted a smile back but it probably looked more baffled.

"Hi," he said, stopping in the hall. I stopped, too.

"Hi," I replied.

"How are you?" he asked. It was awkward. Everything was awkward. I wanted to run away.

"Fine—good. Fine and good."

"Good," he said, laughing. "Look, I have some information you might want to know about. Kind of a peace offering, I guess."

"Yeah?" I said, intrigued.

"You won't be seeing Claire around here anymore," he said, smirking slightly. I tilted my head, confused, but a smile was already growing on my face.

"What?"

"Terminated due to invasion of privacy violations," he cited.

"You got her fired."

He nodded. I couldn't help the snort of laughter that came out. Curtis started laughing, too.

"Nice job," I said honestly.

"Thanks," he said. "And look, for the record, I really regret how I handled everything."

"Me, too," I said. "We fucked things up pretty badly, huh?"

"I guess there's no hope of… fixing them, though?" he said, eyeing me with some sort of expectancy.

"It's not as simple as that anymore, Curtis. You know that," I sighed. "Even if we can forgive each other, there's Dean…"

"I do forgive you, though," he said quickly.

"I forgive you, too," I said, smiling. It felt really good to say.

There was an awkward pause. Curtis looked like he didn't know what to say or do next. I don't know if he'd expected a different answer. I guess he was used to me just… caving to him, unable to resist him. This time I had to_ not_ do that.

"You wanna hug it out?" I said, holding out my arms.

He laughed. "Sure."

I put my arms around his mid section and he hugged me over my shoulders. I exhaled deeply in his arms.

"No chance we could go somewhere quiet and screw it out?" he said in that cheeky tone I knew so well.

"No," I said, laughing. I pulled back. "Friends?"

"Of course," he said. "For as long as you want."

The way he added that qualifier at the end was a little concerning to me, but Curtis was Curtis, after all.

"Where are you headed?" he asked.

"Medical," I said, that being where I was almost always headed.

"Cool, I'll walk you there." Even though we were going in completely opposite directions before we ran into each other?

"Okay," I said, smiling, because we were friends now. That's what friends do.

We walked in mildly comfortable silence for a while before Curtis said, "Did you see me on the latest Botchamania?"

"No, I haven't seen it yet. What did you do?" I'd actually told Dean that we had to catch up with it after the show tonight, but I left that information out for Curtis's sake.

"I'm in the Everyone Talks Too Much segment."

"You and your big mouth," I said, elbowing him gently in the side. The physical contact came naturally—too naturally. As we walked I inched left to put more space between us.

As we approached medical, Dean walked out. He smiled when he saw me, but his face turned to one of confusion when he saw my company.

"Uhh—seeya, V," Curtis said.

"Bye," I said, waving him off. "Hey you," I said, turning to Dean. "Looking for me in there?"

"Yeah... He wasn't bothering you, was he?" Dean asked, concern on his face.

"No, it's fine. He's decided to talk to me again now. He also said he got Claire fired for me."

"For you?" he inquired.

"Well, he called it a peace offering. I'm sure he wanted the bitch gone as much as I did regardless."

"Huh." Dean was staring past me, presumably burning a hole in Curtis's back.

"You alright, champ?" I called him that whenever he walked around with the US title on his shoulder, which was right now.

"Yeah, I'm just being stupid," he said, shaking his head. I moved toward him and put my hands on his chest.

"Not jealous are we, Ambrose?" I teased him.

"Maybe a little," he admitted. "You can talk to him and stuff but if he ever tries anything I'm going to kick his ass."

"Oh, well, thanks for the permission," I said, rolling my eyes.

"No, no—pfft, you don't need my permission to do fuck all, angel. I'm just saying if he tries anything more than talking to you I'm going to smash his fucking face in." I laughed at his words, but looking at his expression, and based on what I'd experienced of his raw personality thus far, he could have well been serious.

"Aww, you're sweet," I said, pecking him on the cheek. Before I pulled back he caught me with his lips and kissed me long and rather tenderly in fact. Wearing his black Shield boots gave him even more height over me, so I was really straining up to him. I placed a hand behind his neck to try to get him to come down to me more, but he seemed to interpret that as a sign to start getting more intense. He sucked on my bottom lip into his mouth and looped an arm around my waist, crashing my body to his.

"Where can I get me some of that treatment?" came a distinctively Irish voice. I pulled away from Dean and looked at Sheamus sheepishly. Randy Orton was standing behind him laughing, presumably because I had just started blushing like a tomato.

"She just went the same color as your hair, dude," Randy said to Sheamus.

"Fuck off, guys," Dean said (in a nice way), still holding me in one arm, title looped around the other.

"C'mon, let your girlfriend do her job, man," Sheamus said. Dean rolled his eyes and relinquished his tight hold on me.

"I'm not finished with you," he said in a low whisper right into my ear. It gave me shivers. As he walked off I looked around awkwardly, still blushing, now also slightly worked up. Sheamus and Randy were still standing there chuckling at me.

"You guys need something?" I asked, resuming a slightly more professional demeanour.

"No, just passing through," Sheamus said. He winked at me and then they walked off down the hall, leaving me on my own. Fucking wrestlers, man, they love to mess with people. Oh well, I probably needed to get to work anyway.


	31. Contact High

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi guys :D MoxieSteele asked why I don't call Dean Jon (and then I guess by way of that, why I don't call Seth Colby or Roman Joe) so I just thought I'd address that briefly. Although early in the story I do refer to Wade Barrett and Damien Sandow by their real names, I made the decision a bit later on, after the story developed into something much bigger than I originally thought, to just call the majority of wrestlers by their current ring names. I did this mainly because not everyone is going to know every single wrestler's real name and so I didn't want everyone to be going 'Wait, who is that again?!' all the freakin' time. As a reader myself, I think it helps the story to be more immersive and less jolting, as well. Of course I couldn't do the same thing with 'Fandango' because that would be a silly thing to call someone in regular conversation. ****Hopefully that gets rid of any confusion for you guys :D**

* * *

_Mystical forces are circling me_  
_While perfect nostalgia is dating the enemy_  
_Lost in the ether with no one to blame_  
_It's silent down here, maybe I want to get loud again_

-'Contact High', Architecture in Helsinki

* * *

Another day, another car ride, another hotel, another arena, another show, another wrestler, another injury, another night over, another night sharing a bed with and waking up in the arms of Dean Ambrose, whose unconscious psychology is so strong that he literally cannot let go of me once he's asleep.

I mean, I don't mind. It just means I have to make sure I'm in a comfy position before we both drift off because once the lights are out—that's it. His arms grip me from behind so firmly and gently and it's like I'm cocooned in him. Between those hours of falling asleep and waking up again and then when we're just lying there together before getting up, nothing and no one matters to me anymore.

Oh god, I've gone completely soft.

I'd also been noticing that Dean's sleep psychology tended to mirror his wakeful personality. Sigmund Freud, eat your heart out. I mean, he was totally normal. No weird complexes or anything, which was surprising for a guy with his upbringing, of which he had only sketched the details out to me. It was just... Okay, so we were at the airport for one reason or another, and the guy I was buying coffee from at Starbucks was flirting with me. You know, it happens. I was trying to be polite about it, figuring I'd never see the guy again, when Dean came up to me and put his hands on my waist and kissed the side of my head. I couldn't see whatever look he gave the barista, but he went the same shade as the milk he was pouring.

I was woken to the sound of ducks quacking, which, if you'll remember, was the tone Dean had inexplicably set his alarm to. Releasing me briefly, he rolled over and turned it off.

"I've been meaning to talk to you about changing that alarm tone," I mumbled sleepily. His arm came back to hold me again.

"Don't try to change me, baby," he said. "The ducks are here to stay."

We couldn't avoid the real world forever, so eventually we got up, heading down for some breakfast before hitting the gym, then back to the room for showers (both the rinsing off kind and the fun adult kind) and to get ready for the show. Dean left first, while I hung around the hotel for a little while longer, reading e-mails, calling my mom—general life stuff.

I went down to the arena a little earlier than I needed to, and I heard the gale before I stepped outside the hotel lobby. It was really windy. My hair immediately flew in my face, then back, then around my face again, then up in the air a little bit, then back down. I fucking hate windy days.

In the brief time I was outside, my hair had managed to tangle itself into something resembling a birds nest, so before I clocked in for work I headed for a bathroom to straighten it all out. Professional appearance and all that. Also, Chris Jericho was wrestling tonight. (I should note that Dean doesn't really know about my long-standing girly crush on the Ayatollah of Rock-and-Rollah, and I aim to keep it that way—much too embarassing, thank you!)

I took a foldaway brush out of my bag and dragged it through my hair, only occasionally swearing and saying 'Ow!' when I found a knot. Satisfied that I looked half-presentable, I stepped back out into the hallway and continued on. Turning the corner—well, who would I bump into _other _than Curtis?

"Hey!" he said, grinning at me.

"Hey," I replied. "You like hanging out in hallways or something?"

He laughed. I always seemed to meet Curtis in hallways these days. We'd been having friendly little chats every other day or so, regaining some of that old easy conversation style we used to have. And I will be honest, I did really enjoy them.

I leant against the wall as we shot the breeze.

"How are you going travelling with Dean?" he asked. "He's always been a bit of a loner when it comes to that shit."

"It's fine," I said, shrugging, not really wanting to talk further on that subject.

"I've been solo these days myself," he continued. "Can get pretty lonely if you know what I mean." He was inching slightly closer to me.

"Yeah, I think I get what you mean," I laughed, eyes darting around the deserted corridor.

"Okay, look, I'm just gonna say it," he said. "There's still tension between us, V. Can't you feel it? Unfinished business."

He was within inches of me now as I stood my ground, putting a hand to the wall beside me and leaning in. Well, he was right. The tension was overwhelming. His scent, so close to me, was igniting all sorts of memories—memories associated with feelings and, for the love of god, actions. Everything we'd ever done together was threading through the narrow space between us, and it was replaying through my head, and as I looked up at him it was like he could see the visions reflected in my eyes.

"I can't do this, Curtis," I said finally. "Regardless of how much unfinished business we may or may not have. I'm with Dean."

"But you didn't mind doing stuff with him while you were with me?" he said, tilting his head.

"You know that whole situation was fucked up and neither of us knew how we felt. I didn't know _where _I stood. I do now. So I can't betray him."

Curtis dipped his head down so that his cheek brushed against mine and his lips were centimetres from my ear. I didn't—I couldn't—move. Homer Simpson's voice was running through my head: _think unsexy thoughts, think unsexy thoughts_…

"Please," I whispered.

"Ah, but there you go," he said softly. "You've already betrayed him in your mind, haven't you? And your heart." He gently traced his thumb over my left collarbone, and that was where he left me, frustrated and confused. I hadn't betrayed Dean. I mean, what the fuck. You can't betray someone just by _thinking _something, can you?

* * *

_I was in my living room, except it wasn't my living room—not my Connecticut living room. It was my old living room in Durham. I was laying on the couch, drifting in and out of consciousness. I heard a noise—someone was in the kitchen. I lifted my head, and saw Dean coming through the archway, just wearing his black shorts that he normally wears to bed. I sat right up as he came over and sat down next to me, smiling at me, running his fingers through my hair._

_I put my hands on his chest and it felt like fire—not regular skin temperature at all. But I was so cold, so it was okay. He didn't really talk too much but he started kissing my neck and took my shirt off so that I was just in my bra. Then the door bell rang. I tried to ignore it and it rang again. It kept ringing. I had to peel Dean off of me to go get the doorbell, and he followed me, pawing at my bare skin. I was so sleepy, and I didn't really care about answering the door in my bra._

_When I opened it, Curtis was standing there, dressed in his wrestling gear. He was looking at me with this forlorn expression, and as I looked back at him, quietly confused, Dean took my hand in his and squeezed, not letting go._

_"Curtis, you need to go… Dean is here," I said, but my voice was so quiet, he didn't hear me. He just walked in. All three of us sat down on the couch, with me in the middle, between these two men, who were both looking at me, and I couldn't look at them both at once, so I kept turning my head, focusing on one, then the other—tearing me apart. I opened my mouth to try to speak, but Dean started kissing my neck again and trailing his hand up my thigh and I found I couldn't. I shut my eyes. Not to be outdone, Curtis took up the other side, his hand sliding across my stomach._

_Taking control of my limbs, I placed one hand on each of their thighs and worked up to their groins to find them both already hard. I heard groans in stereo. Dean cupped my face with his hands and kissed me lovingly, tongue straight away darting across my lips. I opened responsively to him, turning my upper body._

_Curtis's hands were still working me, and the next moment he had unclasped my bra while kissing the back of my neck. I moved my arms to pull the bra the rest of the way off as Curtis took one breast in his hand, rolling my nipple between two of his fingers. I sighed into my kiss with Dean, which prompted him to kiss me harder and move a hand down to my pants, as if he were in competition to make me feel good and Curtis was the opponent._

_At some point my pants had disappeared and I was naked on the couch between them. I moved over to kiss Curtis, which annoyed Dean. Attempting to reclaim my attention, he slipped a finger between my legs as I sat on my knees. The contact was so electric, I bit down on Curtis's lip, as if I'd gotten a shock._

_His hands were all over me behind me and inside of me and they were still like fire while Curtis's lips were cool and wet, and I wanted more of him, of both of them really, so I tugged at the waist of Curtis's pants meaningfully. He removed them for me, exposing his erection. I opened my mouth and found I was easily able to take his full length, hollowing my cheeks as I moved up and down. In this now bent over position, it seemed Dean had taken it upon himself to rid himself of his own shorts and was pressing up against me, teasing to enter._

_I pushed back against him, readying myself, moaning in frustration down onto Curtis's cock. Curtis stroked my hair back, unobscuring my face, burning holes in me with his gaze._

_"Deeean," I moaned, lifting my head and turning it around to look at him. Wordlessly, he turned my body over so that I was on my back, opening my legs and pushing them back towards my chest._

_"So ready for me," Dean murmured, starting to sink his tip into my heated core. As he pushed the rest of the way in, I let out a keening sigh that was quickly swallowed up by Curtis as he leant down to kiss me. He held me steady, lapping up all of my moans and noises as Dean rocked into me._

_The build-up was slow, unbearable—I couldn't get enough friction, even as Curtis moved his hand down to my clit and started rubbing in circles as Dean kept both his hands tightly gripped on my thighs. I was squirming under the two of them, swimming almost._

_Suddenly Curtis stopped his movements and pulled me by the waist away from Dean, and as he slipped out of me he made a noise of loss. Curtis pulled me up onto my knees and entered me from behind, replacing Dean with himself. My mouth dropped open into a silent groan as he started to move inside me, in and out and in again, the both of us facing Dean as he knelt on the couch, intensely watching. I reached for him and took his cock in my hand, gently pulling him toward me._

_I looked up at him—his face was angled down to me, quietly studying as he disappeared into my mouth. Curtis's thrusts were becoming more frantic and I was moaning onto Dean's cock. Dean put his hands to my face, one gently cupping, the other moving through my hair, his hips making small jerking movements._

_Extricating himself from my mouth, Dean raised me up so that I was nearly upright, changing the angle for Curtis to find, but his pace continued unchanged. Regardless of the fact I'd just had both Curtis and him in my mouth, he kissed me softly, warm lips sliding over mine—a hand moving down, playing with my folds, bringing me to moan wantonly into his mouth, like putty in his hands._

_"My girl," Dean growled. I was holding onto his shoulders to keep myself upright, Curtis's thrusts pushing me into him, into his mouth, into his hand. The friction was finally enough. His hands were like liquid the way they molded to exactly where they needed to be, the right amount of pressure, the movement—I was coming in waves, crying out into his lips, whole body jerking and I was shaken..._

...awake. I kept my eyes shut, still breathing hard, quietly mewling from the chemical sensations, fingers digging into the mattress below me. Realising I was not on my apartment couch but in bed, laying on my back, warm arms around me, in some hotel room in some southern state now, I slowly opened my eyes.

Well, at least one of the parties from my dream was there.

"That seemed like it was a good dream," Dean said. He was on his side, facing me, watching me with wide open eyes. As he shifted against me I could feel his hard-on.

"Yeah," I said, somewhat breathlessly. As I squirmed I could still feel light pulsations coursing through me.

"Was I in it?" he said, the hand that was resting over my stomach trailing down to where I was still oh so sensitive. I gasped at his touch, which was red hot, even through my underwear.

"Yeah, you were," I said, turning on my side to face him. This was, of course, the truth, just not the whole truth. His hand stayed down below, toying and playing with my underwear and around my hip bone.

"I thought so. You said my name."

I did? What else did I say then? I hadn't said much in the dream, but I remembered opening the door to find Curtis standing there and then...

"What else did I say?" I asked.

"Nothing really," he said. "You were just moaning a whole bunch. Very hot. Doesn't seem fair if you're the only one who gets to enjoy it, though."

He flipped me on top of him and my legs found their place either side of him, sitting on his hips, body pressed up to his. As he brushed my hair back and kissed my neck, grinding up into me, I closed my eyes and, just for a moment, was thoroughly annoyed with what my subconscious had decided to brew up for me. In bed with Dean was the only time I felt like I had no problems in the world, and then my biggest problem of all had gone and barged right in. The moment passed, however, as Dean dipped inside my underwear and found my core, still wet and ready from the dream—my mind went blank and all was forgotten again but the bed, the sheets, myself and Dean.


	32. I sat by the ocean

_I sat by the ocean  
And drank a potion baby to erase you  
Face down in the Boulevard yet I couldn't face you_

-'I Sat by the Ocean', Queens of the Stone Age

* * *

The dream kept flashing through my mind—I'd started referring to it in my head as the 'threesome dream'—all the way to Tampa, where we were doing a couple of shows. Dean, like a lot of guys who came up from NXT, including Seth, Roman and, of course, Curtis, still lived in Tampa. It was the first time the WWE tour had taken me this far south, so I was looking forward to some Florida sunshine.

But anyway, I had no idea what the dream meant, in terms of what I was feeling for both Dean and Curtis at this point, and I didn't really know what those feelings were anymore either, so that was great. I was, really truly, happy with Dean. The only thing that wasn't making me happy were these largely involuntary thoughts and, of course, feelings. Dean had invited me to stay at his place while we were in Tampa, since he obviously wouldn't be needing a hotel room. I'd accepted of course, because the alternative would have been staying in a room by myself…and also because I'd kind of gotten used to waking up next to the guy.

Seth and Roman dropped us off at his apartment—they lived about five minutes away—not together obviously, but with their respective girlfriends… I can't believe I had to clarify that. So Dean had a bachelor pad, which I was fairly unphased by considering I had I guess what you could call a bachelorette pad.

We dragged our bags up a flight of stairs—the only real negative of not staying in a hotel—and Dean unlocked his front door.

"Welcome to Casa del Ambrose," he said, opening it and letting me enter first. On the floor there was a pile of mail that had been pushed through the mail slot on the door. I picked it up for him, reading the top envelope.

"Says here your name's Jon Good," I said smirking.

"Yeah, well, that is my real name…" he said, eyeing me sideways.

"It's cool, I figured Dean Ambrose wasn't your real name," I shrugged. This business is so fucking weird with people's names. I just call people by whatever name I know them by until they tell me otherwise. Some guys can actually be really weird about people using their real names, like it's reserved only for friends or something. We entered the living room—or perhaps I should say living room and kitchen. It was all open plan and a fairly bare set up on top of that, not much in the way of furniture, probably a function of the fact he spent almost no time here.

"Yeah, well, pretty much everyone goes by whatever their ring name is when we're on tour. Too hard to remember otherwise," Dean explained. "But, uhh—you can call me Jon now. If you like," he added, taking the mail from me and chucking it on his kitchen counter.

"It must be weird having so many names—like hard to keep track of. Sometimes even I get confused between when people call me V and Verity, and Ver. I kind of like Jon better though," I said, coming over to him. I hugged him from behind as he opened the refridgerator, which was empty.

"Ah fuck," he said. "I needa go to the grocery store."

"Right now?" I asked, moving my hands down and then under the fabric of his shirt, feeling for the waistband of his pants. His skin was warm—always so warm. We'd just finished a hell of a long car ride, made longer by the fact he kept touching me in the backseat. I tried not to let him get too frisky while we were driving with Seth and Roman—apart from it being awkward for them, it also felt kind of like rubbing it in because they always had to leave their girlfriends at home.

But now? Well, we were alone… and I was having trouble controlling my hands. They roamed wherever they liked, sliding over his abs and hipbones, as I pressed my cheek into the back of Dean's shoulders.

"Oh, so you wouldn't me touch you in the car," he growled, taking hold of one of my wrists and purposefully guiding it down.

"Only because I knew if I let you," I said, giving him a light squeeze, eliciting a low noise from him, "I wouldn't be able to stop myself."

* * *

We got to the grocery store a couple hours later. As we walked back, bags in hand, to Jon's place, his phone started to ring. He pulled it from his pocket and answered.

"Hey, bro," he said. A pause. It's hard to relay a telephone conversation when you only hear one side of it. He turned to me. "You wanna get hammered tonight?" I thought for a second, then nodded. I hadn't gotten drunk in forever.

"Yeah, man, what time?" Jon said back into the phone. "Cool, seeya later."

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Big E's—he's from here so he has all the best shit. Then to a bar or a club or something."

"Pre-drinks at Big E Langston's house—sounds neat," I said. "What's his real name, by the way? Do people use it?"

"I…" he started. "I have no fuckin' idea. He's just E."

"Okay, cool. I might have to buy some booze in that case then."

He nodded. "There's about a dozen liquor stores on the way home."

I was instructed to fill up on dinner before the night ahead, which was probably wise advice. Since this was basically a homecoming party for a lot of the guys, they were planning on getting pretty blinded—Dean very much included. I mean, Jon. Dammit. This was going to be hard to get used to!

Given that we were probably going to end up at some flashy club by the end of the night, I figured I better dig around in my suitcase for the one actually nice going out dress I'd brought with me on the road. Remember how I said I don't dress up unless I have to?

It was a navy blue halterneck, cinching in to the narrowest point of my waist (that being approximately in line with my belly button) then fanning out to a narrow A-line, cutting off midway down my thigh. I paired it with some sheer black stockings patterned with little bows down the sides of my legs (cutesy, I know…) and navy ballet flats. Girls of my height don't tend to wear heels, even on nights out on the town.

After applying some midnight blue eyeshadow and black eyeliner and parting my hair slightly differently so that it looked like I'd actually done something with it, I stepped out of Jon's bathroom expecting to be gawked at. When I turned to face him, however, I shamefully found myself to be the one with the slack jaw.

He was still wearing jeans—I was used to seeing him in those—but it's amazing what a collared shirt can do to a man's overall appearance. I mean, he's handsome anyway, but… okay. It's _just_ a plain black collared shirt, V. That's literally all that was different. His hair was the same. Everything was the same. It was just the way his shirt perfectly fit his muscular frame and the sleeves were rolled up to the elbow to show off his forearms.

"Wow, hey beautiful," he said, looking me up and down. Meanwhile I just stood there, unable to even say anything in return. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah," I said, pausing for a moment to wonder whether I should grab something warm.

"You won't need it," Jon said, looking back at me making hesitant grabby hands towards my jacket on the bed. "This is Florida."

"Oh yeah," I said, happily skipping towards him, excited for the night to come.

* * *

We were the last party-goers to arrive at E's house. There were five people sitting around in the lounge room, some on couches, some on the floor. One person's figure popped out at me immediately. I'd been pretty stupid not to realise that Curtis would be here. I looked at Jon, who had noticed the same thing, but luckily he didn't react. I mean, technically there was no reason for him to not like Curtis. He didn't know about any of the things that happened between us, anything that had gone on in the recesses of my guilt-ridden mind, and plus, they'd been friends before I came into the picture.

"Welcome!" Big E said. "Sit down, grab a seat—the games are about to begin."

"Games?" I queried.

"And may the odds be ever in your favor," Big E said, laughing, loud and booming—almost evil. That was when I saw the shot glasses on the table and—oh god, so much vodka. I sat down on the floor beside Jon next to a two-seater couch containing Dolph and AJ (a couple in real life I had been surprised to find out). Straight across from us was Curtis, who was chatting to a man I knew by various names: he was now called Curtis Axel, but had previously been Michael McGillicutty, but right now Curtis was calling him Joe. I guess I'd call him Joe, too.

"This, my friends, is Russian Roulette," Big E announced, bringing a huge empty protein container and a stack of paper and pens over to the centre table. "With dares, for fun."

I rolled my eyes. Yeah, in my experience, dares were always fun. Not.

"Grab a few scraps each and write down the dares you want people to do," Big E instructed. "Be careful, though—don't write down anything you wouldn't be willing to do yourself." It sounded even more ominous in E's overly dramatic tone of voice.

I looked at Jon. "What are you writing down?" I asked.

"Not telling you," he smirked. Gulp. I wrote down a few timid dares. Dolph and E were laughing maniacally to each other as they wrote down stuff—what on earth did they have in store?!

"So," Big E said, putting his hands on the table. "Seven people, six shot glasses—five contain water, one contains vodka. Host starts with a shot, then arranges the shots while everyone else looks away. Everyone downs their glass at the same time. Person who gets the vodka has to do the dare. Then next round they prepare the shots."

I guess that way you don't have to do two shots in a row. Clever, Big E… I was beginning to think he was maybe an evil genius. E did his shot and the rest of us turned away from the table while he did his thang.

"I'm so glad I'm not the only girl tonight," AJ said, leaning down from the couch. "This games always sucks when it's just me."

"Oh, well… that sounds promising," I said, eyebrows raised.

We turned back around and our shots were all lined up. We all inspected them thoroughly before picking whichever one called out to us. For me, it was one in the middle. Jon chose one on the end. On three we all tossed our shots back. I swallowed, expecting to feel the burning sensation, but none came. It was water. It was Dolph that spluttered and coughed. I couldn't help but laugh, seeing as he was the one who seemed to be writing all the evil dares down. He reached into the container and pulled out a piece of paper.

"Speak in a foreign accent for the next 15 minutes," he said. That was one of mine, dammit. He immediately launched into an outrageous Russian accent. "In Soviet Russia, vodka shots you! Turn around, everybody."

Next shot down, water again. Just to keep the alcohol flowing, most of us also had a drink beside us—also handy for a chaser if the vodka didn't slide down too good. Big E got the vodka this time, although he barely gave it away. Like a boss.

"Alright," he said, reaching his hand into the container. "Give a lap dance to a person of your choosing." He started looking around, wiggling his eyebrows at everybody indiscriminately.

"Not me!" AJ squeaked. "I'll be crushed."

Big E laughed loudly. "Oh no, short fry, I need me a real man to get danced on."

He zeroed in on, of all people, Curtis, and started shaking his (ample) booty in his face. Curtis's face was all screwed up and he was laughing his ass off as E turned to face him, moving his body around, making over the top gestures and facial expressions. I was in stitches.

Once again, we all turned around, and as we took our third round, I felt that familiar burning sensation. Ah, vodka. My face went red and I coughed.

"Uhh, I got the vodka," I said.

"No shit," Dolph laughed. Big E leaned the container over to me and I reached into it, unfolding the piece of paper.

"Do 40 burpees," I said, deadpanning as I read the last word. I rolled my eyes. "Alright, which asshole put this in?"

No one came forward—wise move. I moved up from sitting on my ass up to my knees. "Do you see what I'm wearing? I am not doing burpees in this dress. What happens when you refuse a dare, E?"

"Hmm," Big E said, putting his hand to his chin. "You can do an extra shot and pass the dare to someone else."

"Done. Gimme the vodka."

Big E poured and passed along the shot. I downed it easily—this time I was expecting it—then looked at Jon, giving him my sweetest but simultaneously my most devilish smile. "I think you know who's doing the burpees."

"I just want you to know I'm feeling very betrayed right now," he said sadly. He started to stand up and move into some space. I went over there with him, pulling him down by the arm to put my lips close to his ear.

"You know I just wanted to watch you do burpees," I said at a level audible for him but not the rest of the group, giving him a cheeky look as he moved into the burpee position. The rest of the group started to chant "1… 2… 3… 4…" as Jon began his burpees. I stood in front of him giving occasional words of encouragement and also probably a great view of my legs. Credit to him, though, he smashed them out, and let's be honest, it _was_ fun to watch.

"Enjoy yourself?" he said, standing up again.

"Oh yeah," I said, laughing.

Even though Jon had technically done the dare, he hadn't technically drank any vodka either, so I got to prepare the next round. I thought it would have been pretty funny if Jon had gotten the vodka and had to do a dare twice in a row, but it was AJ who gasped after she swallowed her shot. She dove her tiny hand into the comically large container and read out the dare.

"Make out with someone of the same gender… Nick! You totally put this one in!" she yelled, smacking Dolph—or Nick, I guess—in the gut. He didn't notice—he was too busy falling about laughing, high-fiving Big E. The rest of the guys were laughing, too, but I wasn't—because I was the only one in the room who was the same gender as AJ. Guess I wasn't getting out of _all _the dares tonight. She looked at me and shrugged.

"So, uh, Verity, you ever kissed a girl before?" Nick asked as AJ continued to pummel him playfully in the gut.

"Truthfully?" I said, pausing for effect—and I swear all the men in the room leaned forward a few inches. "No."

"Well it's always good to try new things," Big E chimed in.

"Don't I know _that _since I've been with this company."

"Okay guys, we need to prepare," AJ said, standing up. She led me a few paces over.

"They think this is so funny," she said, rolling her eyes. "I know Nick would have never put that one in if there wasn't another girl here."

"Yeah, I figured, but it would have been pretty funny if one of the guys got that one," I said.

"They wouldn't have done it," she said, shaking her head. "Not a snowball's fucking change. But that's where we're more hardcore than they are, right? You wanna shut 'em up with me?" There was a devilish look on her face. I looked over at the guys again and they were still laughing and making jokes and I realised that, yeah, I definitely did.

"Hell yeah—but how are we doing this without getting you a step ladder?" I joked. Both of us barefoot in Big E's living room, I cleared the top of her head by a good 8, 9 inches.

"Hmm… sit on the couch," she directed. I went over at sat myself down beside Nick.

"You got yourself some ringside seats, Nicky," I said, rolling my eyes at him.

AJ came over and sat on my lap, one leg on either side of me. I wasn't quite sure what to do with my hands. AJ took one of them in her hand and pressed it back into the couch, cupping my face with her other hand. We started to kiss and my other hand quickly found her back, leaning forward out of the chair—everything for the show. Suddenly I had an idea—as she released my hand from the couch I brought it up to her hair and gently scrunched a handful of it, making it seem like I was pulling when I actually wasn't (some old wrestler tricks you never quite forget). Our lips were sliding over each others, both of us flicking out the occasional tongue, tilting our heads from side to side. It was weird kissing a girl—I couldn't say I got any, you know, arousal from it—but it was fun to pretend I was into it and kind of cool that I knew Jon and Curtis were both probably sitting there going like, "Damn." That was motivation enough.

When we pulled back I realised the room had been silent for quite some time. I looked to my left and to my right and saw that all of the guys had moved from their seated positions to gain a better view.

"You guys that is so creepy," AJ said, rolling off and onto Nick's lap, laughing the whole time. I laughed and dropped back down onto the floor. Well, AJ was right. We were the ones laughing now.

"Did _anyone _film that?" Nick practically yelled. "That was fucking awesome." The guys were sidling back to their spots now, some more awkwardly than others. I reached over for my drink and Jon leaned right into me.

"I really want to fuck the shit out of you right now," he growled, low enough that nobody could hear, close enough to my ear that no one could see the obscene shapes his lips were making. The feeling it sent to my core was like a punch to the gut, but I tried not to react.

"Right here? In front of everyone?" I whispered back, teasingly.

"Don't fucking tempt me."

I kept my poker face and looked back into the middle of the group, where everyone was still laughing and chatting and drinking, and Curtis was just sitting there, listening to Joe, but his eyes were… well, they were on me. Our eyes made contact for a brief moment, making the hairs on the back of my neck stood up on end. Goddammit...


	33. You, me and a lie

**Double update in honor of the new QOTSA album, which is MANDATORY listening for y'all. Now, let us continue with Verity's night...**

* * *

We continued on with Big E's game for a little while longer. Everyone had done at least one dare each by now—poor AJ had to do two. Curtis's dare was pretty lame—a singing and dancing rendition of his own entrance music, which he did every week anyway, so I guess he was lucky to have escaped with such a piece of cake. It was getting close to 10 o'clock, and we decided we ought to make a move to go out. The alcohol here was running out anyway.

Once again Big E took charge and told us we were heading to the 'best club in Tampa'. I wasn't paying attention to what that was, because I, like the majority of my company, was now tipsy, and AJ was clinging to my arm.

"You _have_ to dance with me when we get there," she was saying. "I need to dance!"

"Fuck yeah I'll dance," I said. Sounded like fun. A short taxi ride—Jon and I shared with AJ and Nick and the others took a separate cab—and we were dropped off outside the club. Big E walked straight up to the bouncer and we were allowed straight in. VIP life, baby. Turns out on top of that, Big E also had a _booth_, so wherever we went, however long we wanted to dance, we could always come back and the booth would be free.

First stop: the bar. I was glad to order myself something that actually tasted good, rather than the pre-mixed Jack and coke I'd been reluctantly gulping down at E's. We were barely at the VIP booth before AJ was tugging on my arm.

"Seeya guys!" I said, taking a long slug from my drink before putting it on the table where it would be safe with the group and following AJ to the floor. Club music doesn't do it for me really, but if there's a beat I can't help but move to it.

The bass was so loud and so deep I could feel it in my chest. Alcoholic fumes and bodily sweat attacked my senses. I was drunk and dancing with my favorite current WWE diva. I was having a motherfucking ball.

Two songs later, I finally remembered the thing I hate about clubs. This skinny-ass sleazy looking guy came up to AJ and started dancing on her, touching her, and she was not happy about it. I grabbed her arm and pulled her to a different part of the dancefloor, but the guy followed.

"Dude, stop!" I yelled over the music, putting my hand out palm first—the international sign for 'get lost, douchebag'. "She's not interested!"

"Is it coz you want me for yourself, sweet cheeks?" he yelled back, dancing over to me. I grabbed AJ again and we turned to exit the dancefloor, but as we did so he reached out and grabbed my ass. My brain didn't have time to stop my body before my fist flew up and punched him square in the face, my knuckles impacting the bridge of his nose with a sick crunch. AJ's mouth fell open and I felt someone grab me by the arm. I swung aroung and it was Curtis.

"Come with me," he said, brow furrowed with concern, eyeing the guy warily as he recovered from the punch. Still in fight mode, I looked back at the sleazebag and saw blood dripping from his nose. "Go back to the booth," he said to AJ. She nodded and ran off, probably to go excitedly tell everyone that I just punched a guy on the dancefloor.

Curtis led me to a quieter corner of the club, near the restrooms. He took my right hand and looked it over.

"You okay?" he said. "I heard the crack."

I flexed my fingers, looking down at the pink mark his face had left on my knuckles. "I think it was his nose," I said. My hand was fine, or at least I couldn't feel any pain right now due to all the adrenaline.

"You're still going to need ice…" he said. For the meantime he was just holding my hand tightly, applying pressure.

"Did you see how skinny he was?" I smirked. "It wasn't even a fair fight."

"Oh, now you're just gloating," Curtis replied, laughing. I looked down at my hand, clasped firmly between his, then up at Curtis. He was returning my gaze, hair shadowing his deep blue eyes—such a different shade to Jon's light ones, like the deepest ocean versus the morning sky.

"Thanks for coming to my rescue," I said.

"You're the person least in need of rescue I've ever met," he said, shaking his head, smiling.

"You'd be surprised," I sighed. I moved up on my tip-toes to kiss him on the cheek. "But seriously, thanks. I probably would have got into some trouble if you hadn't been there to pull me out."

Curtis shrugged. "Lucky, I guess—I was just coming back from the bathroom."

"They're over here!" I heard AJ's voice cut through the heavy bass from the dancefloor. I turned my head to see her, bag of ice in hand, accompanied by Jon. Instinctively I pulled my hand away from Curtis and went to AJ.

"Thanks," I said, taking the bag from her, now slightly more aware of a dull throbbing in my hand.

"You punched a guy?" Jon said, eyebrows raised as he moved his arms out naturally to encircle me. I nodded, smiling sheepishly. He kissed the top of my head.

"He grabbed my ass," I said, my eyes darting briefly back to glance at Curtis. "I probably would've kept punching him too but Curtis pulled me out."

Jon nodded towards Curtis, an unspoken thanks, but there was stiffness in it.

"How's your hand?" Jon asked.

"It feels fine," I shrugged. The ice was a precaution for the most part. I knew I'd thrown the punch correctly, and most people only injure their hands if they impact with the flat of their fingers, or with their thumb tucked inside their fist. "Can we go back to the booth now? I clearly need to drink more."

* * *

I saw the sleazebag I'd punched on the dancefloor a couple more times that night. I was surprised he hadn't just gone home, considering. Although it didn't look like I'd broken his nose, he certainly didn't look happy either. If he was pissed, he certainly wasn't going to try anything now, while I was surrounded by a number of very tall, very well-muscled men, one of whom in particular can be _very_ protective of me—not to mention the 2011 national powerlifting champion also with us.

AJ had dragged Nick back onto the dancefloor as I drank and laughed with Big E in the booth. Jon was drunkenly arguing with Joe about obscure wrestling trivia. Curtis was off in the dancefloor somewhere, probably surrounded by girls.

Suddenly the droning bass of the previous song morphed into some funky guitars and for once I recognised the song—Daft Punk, 'Get Lucky'. I widened my eyes at Big E, and he nodded in stoic agreement. This was my jam. I tapped Jon on the shoulder.

"I have to go dance to this song!" I yelled above the music.

"Okay!" he yelled back, glancing at Big E. I think he wanted to make sure I wasn't going to be going back out there alone. E gave him the thumbs up and we ran off to the dancefloor.

I found myself in a little cluster with Nick, AJ and Big E,singing loudly out of tune with AJ, laughing at Big E's outrageous dance manoeuvres —and I could see Curtis a few metres away dancing with a platinum blonde. The funky riff was mixing with the alcohol in my blood and I was dancing without inhibition, moving my hips and tossing my head from side to side.

_We've come too far to give up who we are_  
_So let's raise the bar and our cups to the stars_

Curtis had danced his way over to us, leaving the blonde behind. At first he moved up behind Big E and they did a hilarious little dance that involved Big E shaking his booty as Curtis made some hilarious moves reminiscent of Chris Kattan and Will Ferrell in 'A Night at the Roxbury'. Curtis moved over to me, Big E continued his wacky dance moves as AJ and Nick lost themselves in each other, and we were surrounded on all sides by pulsating, moving bodies. As an overzealous dancer backed into me, pushing me slightly off-balance, Curtis placed his hands on my waist to steady me, and that's where they stayed. Coming closer and closer together and feeling dizzier by the second, I wrapped my arms around his neck, sweet friction exploding my senses as we moved to and were absorbed by the music.

But the song couldn't last forever, and when it did end, I was jolted out of my trance. Momentary clarity came over me and I realised what I was doing—Curtis was leaning his head down, pressing his whole body into me as we rocked to the music, and everyone knows… dancing is a thinly veiled metaphor for sex.

"I'm going to get a drink," I said, pulling back from him, pointing out in the direction of the bar. I waved at Big E and the rest to let them know I was going back out. The warmth of the dancefloor had made me quite thirsty, but I was starting to feel a little bit ill, so I went to the bar and got a cup of water, exhaling deeply before sipping. The music was still so loud and the pulsating bass had come back in full force after what seemed like the briefest absence. I thought if I could just go into the ladies' for a moment, I'd clear my head, then go back to the booth.

I put my cup of water back down at the booth, then got as far as the little alcove near the bathrooms, out of view of the main club. A hand from behind me took hold of my arm and I swung around, expecting a reappearance of sleazy guy, but it was Curtis.

"Oh...I was so ready to punch you just then," I said, relaxing slightly.

"I noticed," he said, smirking, keeping a loose grip on my arm. "Are we gonna talk about this at all?" he said, gesturing between the two of us.

"Not now," I said, sighing. "Later." I tried to turn towards the bathroom but I was thrown to the wall, with Curtis's strong hand pinning my arm there.

"Do you know how hard it is for me to see you with him?" he said next to my ear. "I can't wait—not when I know whose bed it is you're climbing into at the end of tonight."

I swallowed and tried to block out the feelings that came when he put himself in such close proximity to me. Everything I'd been failing to address, everything I'd tried to block out of my mind, standing in front of me, mouth open, bottom lip glistening with saliva, so ready to be bitten and sucked on…

"The fuck do you think you're doing," came another voice. Jon's voice. He was glaring at Curtis, brow so furrowed it nearly obscured his eyes. Curtis pulled away from me and faced Jon, but said nothing.

"You. Me. Outside. Now," Jon said, staring him down. They walked towards an emergency exit at the end of the hallway, pushing it open, and I followed them out into the fresh midnight air—well, 'midnight'... definitely early morning by now.

Jon was pacing, cracking his knuckles, and Curtis was standing there, tensed up and wary.

"Jon, nothing happened," I said, stern of voice, standing mid-way between them. The words he'd uttered to me weeks ago reverberated through my mind.

_"I'm going to smash his fucking face in."_

And the feeling I'd gotten when he'd said it, like I kind of believed him.

"You want her?" he said to Curtis, pointing at me. "You want to steal her right from me?!"

Curtis said nothing, but the silence and the glance in my direction was proof enough. Quick as a flash, Jon raised his arm, hand clenched into a fist, and swung at Curtis. Without time to think, I flung my arms out in reaction to catch his forearm before he connected, using all my strength to arrest his momentum, giving Curtis well enough time to move out of the way.

"Stop!" I cried, moving to stand in front of Jon.

"Oh, come on, angel, you get to hit someone tonight and I don't?" he practically snarled, never taking his eyes off Curtis. I kept a hold of his arm tightly with both hands.

"That was a sleazeball," I said. "This is our friend."

"When he's moving in on you, he's only a sleazeball in my eyes."

"Jon…"

"Why are you taking his side anyway?!" he said, raising his voice. "You think it's okay, what he tried with you?!"

"_Listen to me_," I hissed. "If you give Vince's favorite rising star a black eye _you'll_ be the one paying the price, with your belt, or your career. I can't let that happen to you because of some girl!"

"You're not just _some girl_, and you know that," Jon replied, his voice returning to normal volume levels, calmness retaking him. Had I talked him off the ledge?

My head was spinning. I was so tired. My heart felt like it was sinking into my stomach.

"Dean, I think I want to go home," I sighed, slumping into his chest. I knew I'd used his… _other _name. I didn't care.

"Okay, let's go," he said, walking me back through the door. I gave Curtis a sympathetic look as we passed. I collected my bag and we said goodbye to the others, the loudness and the hotness of the room just making me feel worse the whole time. I fell asleep in Jon's arms in the cab ride home, feeling like I'd just lived the longest night of my life.

* * *

_Closer and closer  
We're crashing ships in the night_


	34. I'm on your side

_You couldn't even show yourself out_  
_You were so held up by your thoughts_  
_Along the way we got divided_  
_And I'm left showing you the door_

-'Encoder', Pendulum

* * *

I remembered very little between the cab ride home and being led inside, undressed (partly by myself and partly by Jon) and then put to bed. Everything else I remembered, though. Every tiny detail. The stiffness in my right hand was an especially good reminder. I had a dull headache, which was understandable, and I was wearing just my underwear, cuddled into Jon's side, who was in a similar state of undress.

My mouth was dry and I had to pee pretty bad, so I slipped out of my side of the bed and into the bathroom. After washing my hands I splashed some water on my face and, feeling my head pulsate and the chill of the room, rolled back into bed and under the covers, trying to steal some more of Jon's warmth. He stirred, arm tightening around me.

"Did you get up?" he mumbled.

"Yeah, for a minute," I whispered.

"Your hands are cold."

I giggled, running them over his body. He hissed in a breath and grabbed my hands, flipping me onto my back, fingers interlacing with mine to keep my hands pinned to the bed.

"You know any other girl I would have kicked out by now, right?" he growled.

"Are you saying I'm pushing my luck?" I smirked.

His penetrating stare turned to a look of unsureness. "No…" he said, moving to one side to rest on his elbow beside me. "I'm trying to say you have no idea what you do to me, V."

The expression on my face softened. "Jon, about last night…"

"Oh god," he said, "I'm sorry you had to stop me punching Curtis."

"No, it's fine, honestly, I just wanted to—"

"It's just everything good in my life gets taken away from me at some point—I'll defend what I have with whatever I have."

Again, he sounded like he was launching into a promo. In those promos, he told me, he always talks from the heart and he always looks so determined, but that wasn't what I saw when I turned to him and looked into his eyes. I saw worry. I saw that fear, just like he said, of having something taken from him, and what I was about to tell him wasn't going to help at all.

"Jon… it must be getting pretty obvious at this point. I really, really, really like you. In fact I like you a lot more than I intended to like you," I said, laughing, thinking back to when we first met. "But there's still something… _unfinished_ between me and Curtis. And I'm afraid I'm going to hurt you unless I can figure it out."

Jon was staring at me, expression giving nothing away.

"I think I might need some space in order to do that," I said finally. "From both of you."

Jon frowned. "That's going to be hard to do on this tour, you know."

"Yeah… I'm thinking it might be time to go home."

"Okay."

"You're… you're not mad?"

"Mad isn't the word," he said, shaking his head. He was remarkably, disturbingly calm. I was expecting a worse reaction.

"What's the word, then?" I asked.

"I'll let you know when I figure that out myself." He sighed, rolling onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. I did the same. Lying on our backs, talking about the fact that I had unresolved feelings for someone else, and that I needed to take a break from everything to figure everything out.

"The thing is, logically speaking, I shouldn't give two fucks if you want to leave," he said finally.

"Oh…" I said.

"It's not like it hasn't happened before. But clearly I do." He ripped the sheets off of him and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, facing away from me. "Give fucks, I mean. This wasn't the fucking plan."

What part hadn't gone to plan, I wondered. Curtis reasserting himself? The fact that whatever Jon and I had been doing at the start had turned into something… more complex? Any of it?

"I'm sorry…" I said.

"It's not your fault, angel," he replied, not even turning to look at me as I sat up in the bed. "You barely had time to get over the guy before I…" he trailed off.

That much was true. Turning straight to Jon, I never dealt with my feelings for Curtis and what had happened between us. I just… suppressed them. Blocked them out with the distractions of another, but the distraction had turned into something else, and then the suppressed feelings had been reawakened and I was totally, completely unprepared to deal with them again.

"But it is my fault," I argued. "I shouldn't have said yes when you asked me… you know… when I wasn't over him."

"You saying you wish you hadn't been with me this whole time?" he said, turning his head slightly, a wounded tone coating his voice.

"No, well, I—" I sighed. "I'm glad I did. Like I said, I like you a lot. But it wasn't fair to you…"

"I asked you, not the other way round, remember," he said, standing up. He ran his hands through his hair, turning to me, frustration apparent on his face. "I practically hunted you for sport. I mean, I'm the fucking idiot here. Like I didn't know what was going to happen when Curtis decided to start talking to you again—but by then it was too late."

"Too late?"

"You got your claws in me, wildcat," he said, pacing in front of the bed. "In the best fucking way."

"I'm sorry," I said again. He looked at me again, same intense look on his face.

"Please stop apologizing. I'm trying to tell you it's okay. All of it."

"Really?" I asked, uncertain. His body language was angry, aggressive, even if his words were an attempt to be reassuring.

"Yeah," he said. "I mean, I'm not okay with you leaving. I don't want you to leave. I'd rather Curtis jumped off a fucking cliff. But I get it."

I was kind of shocked. Generally guys I've dated have had the emotional intelligence of a gnat, not to mention being incredibly precious when it came to their egos. So how was it that here was this guy, and he just understood? Surprising me at every corner. This wasn't the guy I'd met in the trainer's room all those months ago. That, it seemed, had been an act. You know they say those with the hardest shells have the softest centres. If so, Jon was like a mussel or something. In spite of myself, I almost giggled at the thought, but as he looked at me from the foot of the bed I felt a tightness in my chest instead.

I was practically on autopilot as I moved onto my knees in the bed, letting the sheets drop down, and captured his lips in a kiss, slow and tentative at first. His hand came to rest on my upper back and he opened his mouth onto mine, tongue sliding over my bottom lip. My mouth opened into a whimper, allowing him entry. He was kissing me hungrily, like it was the first time, and the last time, all rolled into one, and I realised how stupid I was for saying that I had to leave for a while, but I knew deep down that this was exactly the reason why. Reset everything. Separate the physical from the emotional. Separate sex from love.

Did I say love? Cuz that wasn't what I meant.

I pulled back from the kiss, but his hand at my back kept our bodies pressed together.

"So, umm—I guess I'll ask for some time off after the Tampa shows. When I get back I guess I'll have figured things out," I said.

"I hope so," he said, voice low and almost breathless, like a whisper. I rested my cheek against his chest, hearing his heart beat and the expanding and contracting of his breath.

"Can I just ask one thing, though?" I said timidly.

"Anything."

"Til I leave… can we just act like nothing's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, angel," he said, putting a hand to the back of my head, holding me there. If only. Things couldn't have felt more wrong if I tried.

* * *

Corporate and of course Dr Amman didn't need to know the real reason I'd requested a few days of leave effective as of after the Tampa shows. I'd cited travel burn out. The doc had nodded and said I'd lasted longer than most people before they asked for a little time off from the hectic road schedule.

Somehow, word got around quickly after I told Sheamus that I wouldn't be joining the rest of the crew on the plane to the next lot of shows. Guy is a huge blabbermouth apparently.

"Why are you leaving?" Curtis said, blocking my path as we neared each other in the hallway. "I thought you liked it here."

"Chill," I said. "I'm going home for a few days. Swear to fucking god, this place is like Chinese whispers!"

"Oh, okay. Uhh—because of what happened at the club?"

"Yes and no. That was a pretty good catalyst, though. I just need some time away from all of this, and certain people in particular, to figure out what I want."

"Can I send you saucy texts to help influence your decision?" he said, cheeky smirk playing on his face.

"Absolutely fucking not," I said, not deigning to return the smile. All fun and good for him—he hadn't talked to Jon this morning. Hadn't felt what I felt. Hadn't seen the damage he was doing. But his smile was so infectious, and gorgeous. Definitely gorgeous. He normally had that whole permastubble look going on, but for whatever reason had decided today that a good clean shave was in order. If anything it accentuated his jawline more, the smoothness of the lines and the pinkness of his bottom lip in particular, which was always hanging parted from the top…

"See something you like?" he said, breaking me out of my little train of thought, corner of his mouth turning upward, creasing his cheek a little.

"Uhh—you shaved," I said, unable to think of what else to say.

"Yep," he said, running his hand over his jaw. "Prefer it this way? Or with the stubble?"

"Ah, I like it both ways," I said vaguely, suddenly aware that I should probably try to exit this situation as soon as possible.

"Yeah you do," he shot back, eyes full of amorous meaning as they pierced me to the core. What kind of sweet hell was this? He moved closer to me and said in a lower tone of voice, "I know you'll make the right choice."

The cockiness in his tone kind of annoyed me, and before I could stop myself I was saying right back: "Well, I'm glad you do because at this point I really have no fucking idea."

That seemed to please him. Everyone talks too much...

"I'll see you when I see you, Curtis," I said, turning to walk off.

"Bye sexy," he called after me.

"Don't start that shit again," I said, turning back, warning him. "I already saved your ass once and this morning Dean told me he wants to throw you off a cliff."

"Worth it," he shrugged. I shook my head and continued walking. Neither Jon nor Curtis was planning on making this easy for me.

* * *

The cab was scheduled to arrive in about an hour to take me to the airport for an 11:10am departure. Always the over-preparer, I'd gotten up earlier than usual, about 7:30am, and made sure everything was in order, being careful not to wake Jon too early. I was ready quicker than I thought—it was only 8:30am. I sat silently in the dim living room, the furniture around me illuminated only by the rising sun. My laptop sat open in front of me with my online check-in details in front of me. I had so much time to kill but—I was in a melancholy mood. I didn't feel like doing much at all.

I heard a familiar quacking noise come from the bedroom and smiled. Dean and his fucking ducks. A minute or two later, he walked out of the bedroom, clad only in his bed shorts.

"What are you doing just sitting out here?" he croaked, clearing his throat of the morning rust.

"I got ready a little early," I said.

"So keen to leave?" he said, coming to sit down beside me on the two-seater. I shook my head.

"Opposite," I said.

He leaned over and kissed me, and I melted. "Then don't," he said, brushing his lips lightly down my jaw to my neck. I instinctively tilted my head back, letting him get at my throat.

"You're not making it any easier," I gasped, fisting a hand into the back of his hair, all messy and wild from being on the pillow all night. His hand moved down between my legs and rubbed over the smooth fabric of my yoga pants. I swallowed as the friction brought me to life again, sending sparks. It was like the room lit up, or maybe that was just the sun getting higher through the window.

"Jon, we shouldn't—the taxi—" I managed to mumble.

"Isn't coming for another hour," he finished, pushing me down onto my back, knee coming to rest between my legs, grinding purposefully. "C'mon angel," he growled into my neck. "Let me in. If this could be the very last time."

His words shot through me like an arrow to the gut. I grabbed his head and kissed him forcefully, and his body crashed into me with full force, moving together like waves. The friction between us caused me to whimper pathetically, needily, as I felt him grow harder with every movement. Somehow without losing contact with my lips he yanked my pants down and pulled himself out of his shorts. I wrapped my legs around him as he guided himself to me. He slid inside like a piece in a jigsaw, so perfectly fitting, completing the puzzle. He rocked into me at a steady pace as I gripped him tight, raising my hips, trying to pull him deeper.

"My girl," he muttered into the crook of my neck, groaning as he thrust into me harder and faster with every breath. Pressure was mounting in me as I clawed at his back, leaving hot red marks across his shoulders, unbearably close—so, so close.

"That's it, baby," he growled encouragingly. "Come for me."

"Fuck, Jon!" I was breaking open for him, shattering around him, keening, heels dug into his lower back as I tried to push him deeper.

"Beautiful girl," he was muttering as he pulled back from my neck, watching my face contort with pleasure. He started to increase his pace as my ultrasensitive core pulsated around him, tiny shockwaves making me mewl and helplessly moan, language lost to sensation. I screwed my eyes shut.

"No, angel, look at me," he said, hand cupping my chin. I forced my eyes open again as he looked down at me, hair encircling his face, mouth hanging open, eyes full of earnest, frantic hunger.

"Shit," he breathed out, chest hollowing, all air seeming to escape his lungs at once. The familiar sensation shot through me, and the pulses, to let me know he was done.

We just lay there, half naked, intertwined, breathing, for a while.

"You know this doesn't change anything," I said softly, not quite believing myself. How could something so completely earth-shattering have no effect whatsoever?

"I know," he replied in a flat tone, sitting up, pulling his shorts back on. "You want something to eat before you go?"

"I thought I'd just eat on the plane," I said. Jon made a face.

"Plane food?"

"Good point," I conceded. I took a banana and sat there eating it on the couch, Jon next to me, nothing really to say at this point, everything having already been said.

My cab rocked up fairly punctually, not a minute late. I sighed and stood up, going to my bags at the front door. Jon followed me outside, not seeming to care that he was just wearing shorts and nothing else, not even shoes. Maybe it was an elaborate ploy—appeal to my basest nature, make me say goodbye to him while he was dressed, or not dressed, like that.

The cabbie put my bags in the trunk and then got back in the drivers seat, waiting for me to get in after I said my goodbyes. I moved over to him and he put his hands on my waist, his expression unreadable. I put my hand up to his head and smoothed his hair down, which was still sticking up all over the place.

"Try not to kill Curtis before I get back?" I joked.

"I make zero promises," he said, but a small smile played across his face.

"Guess I'll see you when I see you," I said, leaning up to plant a kiss on his cheek, rough with stubble and warm against my lips. As I pulled back he caught my lips and kissed me slowly, languidly.

"If you kiss me like that anymore I'll miss my flight," I said, voice barely above a whisper.

"See you later, angel," he said. He opened the door to the cab for me and I climbed in. As the cabbie pulled away from the kerb and drove down the street I gave one final glance back, but Jon had already turned to walk back inside.


	35. Miss you love

_I love the way you love  
But I hate the way I'm supposed to love you back_

-'Miss You Love', Silverchair

* * *

Being home was awesome. I wore sweat pants for three days straight. I didn't really have to leave the house at all because my mom and dad decided to come down to Stamford—they hadn't really seen me in forever after all—and they brought all this food. Half of it was going to spoil once I got back out on the road.

I told them all about the new places I visited (old people love to hear about places), and talked with my dad about all of the wrestlers and what it was like being at ringside, and backstage, and everything really, but conveniently leaving out any mention of my current dramas and the nature of my relationships with two superstars in particular. My dad is an old-school fan, though—he doesn't really know too much about Fandango or the Shield. He wanted to hear about Chris Jericho, Triple H and the Undertaker.

My mom, of course, at some point had to ask though: wasn't there anyone there that caught your eye? With all those handsome men around? _My _beautiful daughter should have men falling at her feet _left and right_. That sort of thing.

I don't know, at this point, maybe I could have used someone to talk through the issues with, but my mom… You see, my dad was the first guy she dated. And she married him. So I kind of knew the line of reasoning she'd take with this sort of thing: take the easiest path. Of course, what she really meant by that was to take the course of action that was going to create the least fuss, and ruffle the least amount of feathers. What was the easiest path for me, though? I didn't see one.

Three days was barely any time to do anything, but it felt like five or six in the end, because I barely slept. I don't know what it was. I was just restless, and sometimes I felt sick, nauseous even, during the night. I wasn't used to the walls of my Stamford apartment—at this point, hotel décor was more comfort to me.

On the third day I packed a new suitcase, more suited for the winter season. I shoved my NH Wildcats hoodie to the bottom and it reminded me what Jon had called me.

_You got your claws in me, wildcat. In the best fucking way._

But New Hampshire also reminded me of Curtis. The long nights, thinking of him. The constant flirting and texting. So much tension built up. Then the visit—one glorious weekend. As to the whole trying to work things out in my head thing, you can probably tell it wasn't going so well. Every time I saw things one way, another argument popped up.

In some ways, the two of them were too similar. I owed them both for the favors they had done for me—Curtis had helped me get a job at the WWE, without which I'd have never even _met_ Jon to begin with. This job had been the best thing to happen to me in a long time. But at the same time, Jon had been there when the whole Curtis/Claire fiasco went down, and besides that, had done a really, really good job of keeping my mind off other things and I found it weird to _not_ be around him now.

And the sex—well. Physical attraction had preceded any sort of an emotional connection with both of these guys. That was partly why I figured I ought to remove myself from the tour, and Jon's bed, so that I could clear my head. Whoever's presence I was in, they clouded me—I'm not ashamed to admit it. But beyond the physical attraction there were real feelings, for both of them, and I had to work those out somewhere my libido wouldn't come into play.

So after three days I had come to exactly no conclusion, but it was too late, and I had to go back to work. With the benefit of forward planning, however, I was able to arrange a single room at the next town, and a ride with AJ, Dolph and Big E. You'll never guess where the next lot of shows were, though.

Motherfucking Denver.

After all this time, I'd ended up where it had all began. It was oddly poetic.

* * *

I ended up at the arena extremely early, not wanting to spend anymore time at the hotel. With nothing to do, though, I ended up just sitting in the bleachers, trying to avoid people, staring out into the expanse of the arena ahead of me, still feeling a tad ill and just so fucking frustrated at myself for not being able to figure a damn thing out.

You see, the nature of a 'love triangle' as such is that inevitably one person out of the three gets shafted. And well, I was never going to be the one left in the dust as Curtis and Dean rode off into the sunset together (funny as the mental image was), so it was effectively up to me to make the decision. I mean, assuming that when I got back to both of them they hadn't changed their minds. That was also a fear that had crossed my mind... The other problem with a love triangle is that, really, in the end, I cared deeply for both of them—which is of course what makes the decision so hard. Triangles, man—the shape with the sharpest angles.

With my earphones in and the therapeutic voice of Maynard James Keenan blaring at me, I wasn't even aware of the quick thudding of the stairs that had been going on. Suddenly a sweaty, out of breath CM Punk was standing beside me, looking at me, saying something I couldn't hear. I pulled my earbuds out.

"What, sorry?" I said.

"I said are you alright there? You look upset," he said, taking one of the seats in the row in front of me. "And your music sounds super angry and loud."

Punk was, despite his outward persona, actually one of the nicest guys I've met in the WWE. That is, if he likes you and you don't annoy him. Since my special skills involve basically making all the superstars' aches and pains go away, I fortunately fell into the 'like' category.

"It's Tool. Yeah, I'm fine," I replied. "I feel like I'm in an episode of The Bold and the Beautiful right now, but fine. Thanks."

"Oh no, did someone come back from the grave to interrupt your wedding or something?"

"In allegorical terms, sorta."

"Well no wonder you're upset."

"I'm not upset. I'm thinking. This is my thinking face."

Punk laughed. "Cool," he said, but he didn't move to resume his crazy little exercises up and down the steps of the arena. He just sat there, because he knew that I _was_ upset, and he's like that. I didn't know how much he knew about the whole situation. He doesn't care for gossip mostly.

"Hey," I said, breaking the silence. "You've had your fair share of girlfriends right? Girls, coworkers, throwing themselves at you, et cetera, et cetera?"

"Heh, uhh—yeah, I guess..."

"I mean, it's all so weird, isn't it? How do you go about choosing which person you want to be with?"

He thought for a moment. "In my experience, it's never really been a choice you get to make. Happens without you realizing it."

That wasn't particularly helpful advice, given my situation.

"Well, in this instance it is literally a choice," I said. "And I'm just scared I'm gonna make the wrong one, cuz whichever I way I make it, someone is going to be hurt… and I don't want to hurt anyone."

Punk shrugged. "Every choice we make affects someone, not always in the nicest way. Butterfly effect, man. And as for yours, whichever choice you make—that one_ is_ the right one. Just as long as you make it for yourself, and not for somebody else because you think you owe them or you don't want to hurt them. I don't know if that helps."

"Me either. Thanks anyway." I smiled and Punk smiled back sympathetically. I didn't feel like I deserved sympathy particularly but whatever.

"You're so wise," I sighed. "Like an owl, or Confucius, or something."

Punk laughed. "Yes, exactly like an owl."

He stood up and flexed his legs in preparation to continue his stair run.

"If it helps at all, Dean Ambrose has been in a fucking foul mood ever since you left," he added before running off. Why didn't that surprise me?

But what about Curtis? He hadn't mentioned what he'd been up to. It dawned on me that I was actually sitting in the arena where Curtis had originally gotten me in for Smackdown in Denver—just another in a long line of things I owed him. I could see my seat far down below, in the fifth row. I stood up. Time for a walk.

Roaming the halls, everything was finally familiar. Where I'd sat, perched on the unused crates, talking to Heath Slater. The Undertaker eating grapes in catering. The short hallway down to the locker rooms. I was smiling and I didn't even realise it, reliving the nostalgia. I hadn't even _met _Dean Ambrose at that stage yet, let alone gotten acquainted with Jon Moxley or Jon Good. Simpler times.

Happier times?

* * *

When I found myself back in medical, Dr Amman was there.

"How was your time off, Verity?" he asked, smiling.

"Great, I caught up with my parents. My mom did all my laundry," I laughed.

"Great, well, if you're up for it, you're at ringside tonight," said the doc.

"I'm so up for it," I grinned.

So, the first time Curtis or Jon saw me back from my mini-hiatus was sitting at ringside on a foldout metal chair, trying to be invisible. I got, as you'd expect, no reaction from either of them, but once I got back to medical after the show I found them both waiting for me.

"Wow," I said, noting them both.

Had they been talking to each other? And if so, what had they been discussing?

"What do you guys want?" I asked warily.

"Oh, nice to see you, too," Jon said, rolling his eyes. I laughed.

"We just wanted to welcome you back," Curtis quickly added.

"Ooh, what does that entail?" I raised my eyebrows suggestively and Jon cleared his throat loudly.

"Have you, uhh—" Jon started, but didn't finish. I frowned, looking to the both of them, back and forth, standing there, side by side, surprisingly similar in height.

Curtis was movie star handsome, the hero of an action flick or some such, while Jon was more like the irresistable bad boy, but in fact, he mostly defied categorization. Different flavors; both delicious. Impossible to split.

I shook my head in response to Jon's unverbalized question. Regardless of whichever way I was leaning at this point, there was no way I was telling them together like this. This isn't American fucking Idol. You don't get to watch the other contestant cry their way out the door. I shooed them away without the answers they were looking for with a promise that I'd see them later.

* * *

I told myself about halfway from the trainers room to the parking lot that I needed to make the decision before the end of the night. Not only would it have been particularly cruel on Curtis and Jon to drag it out, but having it there hanging over me, thinking about it every fucking minute, was doing _my_ head in and stressing me out when I was supposed to be concentrating on work. It was either now or risk losing them both, and my job in the process.

I think I was about nine tenths of the way to the hotel when I finally forced myself into a decision: the one I wanted to choose. It seemed obvious now.

He'd been the one I'd been infatuated with from the start, the one I'd raised up to an almost idealized level in my mind. This way, I figured, the original hero would come out on top, and everything would come full circle. It was the way things were _meant _to be.

It would be cathartic to go to him now, when we were in the same hotel that we'd shared on that first ever night. And I was driving the opposite way down the street where I'd left him, returning at last. I'd been away too long.

**What's your room number**

I texted him.

**520**

He sent back.

I shivered in the cold night air as I walked from the cab to the lobby, then made my way up the four flights of stairs to my room on the fourth floor. What? Some of Jon's habits had rubbed off on me and stair-taking was one of them. I dropped my bag off, shoved my room key in my pocket and then headed up one more flight to room 520. I knocked, then only had to wait for about, oh, one and a half seconds before Curtis opened it and greeted me in the way I'd come to expect.

"Hey sexy."

* * *

**NEXT CHAPTER IS THE FINAL CHAPTER! :O**

**It's written and will be up after editing as soon as I'm happy with it**


	36. My Blue Heaven

_And it's all too familiar  
And it happens all the time.  
All the cards begin to stack up,  
Twisting heartache into fine  
Little pieces that avoid an awful crime,  
But it's you I can't deny._

-'My Blue Heaven', Taking Back Sunday

* * *

Curtis pulled me inside the hotel room and kissed me straight away, before the door had even clicked shut.

"Knew you'd come," he muttered. He pulled me down onto the bed, onto his lap, and kissed me some more.

"Curtis," I mumbled into his lips, reaquainting myself with his kissing style—slow and teasing, soft and slippery.

He moved down, raking his bottom lip up the side of my neck to my earlobe. I felt a brief shiver in me, a coming to life, and then it stopped.

What? What was wrong? I took his head in my hands and kissed him hard on the lips, biting and sucking on his lip—his delicious bottom lip, the one I fantasised about, the one that did awful, terrible, debased things to me.

But god, it was doing nothing for me now. But here, this—it was what made the most sense! This was where I would have ended up if none of this bullshit had gone down. Here was where I was _supposed _to be.

But it was not where I wanted to be. The revelation hit me like a ton of bricks.

I extricated myself from Curtis's arms and stood up.

"What?" he said, looking at my face with concern. I imagine I would have been standing there looking quite panicked.

"Curtis… I'm sorry," I said, looking down at my feet. "I think—I think I've made the wrong decision here. I think I need to go."

Curtis sighed and stood up. "Wow, alright. I did not see this coming."

"Neither did I. I didn't know until I…" I trailed off. "I'm really sorry."

"No, well, glad I could help you make a decision at least," Curtis said, bringing a hand up to the back of his neck.

"If things had been different…"

"I know, I know. Man am I glad I got that bitch fired now."

"We can't really blame her," I said. "We were kind of stupid."

"I'm realizing that. V… Why? Why him?"

I shook my head. In the end, it was just like Punk had said. The one you want to be with—it never is a conscious choice. I'd tried to make a decision with my mind, but my heart and my body had told me it was the wrong one. I've always been ruled more by the latter two.

"Why isn't a valid question," I said. "There's no rhyme nor reason about it."

"V, Dean isn't—he's not a long term relationship kinda guy," Curtis said, still trying to reason against something that followed no pattern of logic at all.

I shrugged. "I can't think about the long term, I just have to go where I feel like I need to be right now, this moment."

"And that's not here," Curtis said. "With me."

It broke my heart to shake my head and tell him no. So this was the pointy end of the triangle.

"Look, I'm not sure if we can be friends after all of this but if it's possible I'd really like to," I said.

"Look, I'm not sure either," he replied. "Like I said, I'm surprised. I thought this was how it was meant to be."

"So did I… Boy, did I. Look, I'm gonna go now," I said, gesturing over my shoulder to the door. "I think we've said all that's needed to be said."

"You're probably right."

"I'll see ya round the arena," I said, attempting a bittersweet smile. Curtis attempted one back.

"Yeah," he said.

I went back to my room and breathed deeply, working everything over in my head. Curtis had been an addiction, a drug caught in my bloodstream that had finally worked its way out of my system. And while the temptation was there, when I tried it again, it just wasn't the same. You never get the same thrill twice. Jon, though… I couldn't explain it, but Jon was something different. Even though he was probably one of the weirder guys I've met, when I was with him, everything felt normal. And that was what I wanted—what I needed. Jon was my antidote. Medicine to me.

I pulled my phone out of my bag and texted him, hoping he'd actually be checking his phone. He sometimes doesn't do that.

**What's your room number?**

I got a reply straight away.

**613**

Well fuck if that number didn't ring a bell. Maybe things were coming full circle after all. I raced up two flights of stairs and as I pushed open the door to the corridor I saw Jon standing there, outside his room, looking to the elevators. I walked up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Oh," he said, turning around.

"You know I take the stairs now," I said, smiling at him. I walked into his room and sat down on one of the twin beds. That's funny, last time I was in this room there was one bed, pushed together.

"To be honest, I didn't expect you to come," he said, sitting down beside me.

"To be honest, I didn't expect to come," I replied. "I actually went to see Curtis first."

"Yeah? How'd that go?"

I shrugged. "It wasn't until I got in there… He kissed me. And it didn't feel right."

"You wanna try that little experiment with me?" he said, fingers creeping up my thigh.

He didn't even have to kiss me for me to know that this was it. But I still wanted him to. I nodded and he closed the gap between us in a lightning fast movement, need sweeping through me as my hand flew up to grasp his hair, pulling him to me. This was the kiss I wanted—hard and desperate, straight to the point, driven by need and emotion. It was a kiss that remedied everything, setting everything upright again.

"Oh, thank god," a voice broke in. We pulled away and looked to the door. It was Roman, with, for some reason, a sandwich.

"Oh yeah, I should have said, I'm sharing with Roman tonight. Leigh is here with Seth," Jon said.

"Hmm…" I said in response. My plans for him tonight were not conducive for sharing the room with a third person.

"Guess I'll go back to my room, all _alone _then," I said, pointedly, giving Jon a look. Roman sat down on the other bed and unwrapped his sandwich. I stood up and walked to the door. "See you later, Roman," I smiled at him. I looked at Jon again. Getting the hint, he sprung to his feet and to the door.

"Hey, don't wait up alright?" he said to Roman.

"Have fun, guys," Roman called as we shut the door. Oh, he knew exactly where we were going and why—come to think of it, that made it kind of a creepy thing to say actually. Oh well.

"Where's your room?" Jon said, slinking his hands around my waist as we walked.

"Fourth floor," I said, pushing the door open in front of him. He caught my hand as he passed through into the stairwell and slammed me up against the wall, pressing his body to mine. I whimpered as he scraped his teeth along my neck. Two flights down might as well have been a hundred miles away right now.

"Mm, Jon, my room isn't far," I said, trying to pry him from me.

"Can't wait," he breathed, trying to reach into my pants, and god, I wanted to let him but… this was a busy stairwell.

"C'mon," I said, finally able to push him away, taking considerable strength to do so. I kissed him on the cheek. "Race you."

I broke away and made for the stairs. Racing down was a lot easier than up, but he still caught me, annoyingly, by jumping the railing. At the door to the fourth floor I shook my head in disbelief.

"What the fuck, you're like a cat!" I said.

"So sweet that you think you can compete with me, though," he said, grabbing me again, practically throwing me this time against the door, but I barely felt the impact.

"What can I say, I'm competitive by nature," I said, writhing underneath his grasp, trying to be closer, failing, because we were still clothed. "God, let me get you to my room so I can get you undressed," I pleaded, fisting his t-shirt.

He chuckled. "That's what I like to hear."

He barely got inside my room before his shirt was over his head and on the floor. As I tossed it away his hands magnetized to my waist.

"Always so impatient," he growled as we discarded more items of clothing.

"Mmm," I murmured. "And you never make me wait."

I was pulling him back with me now, towards the bed. I crashed down onto it, bringing Jon with me, opening my legs to let him fall between them.

"Do you know how beautiful you look to me?" he muttered, looking up at me from the trail of kisses he was leaving down my stomach. He hooked his fingers under my underwear and pulled them down, dragging his tongue over my wetness.

"Jon!" I cried, involuntarily bucking my hips, and I felt the vibrations of his growl. I couldn't stop my hips from desperately moving against him—after a minute he put his hands to my knees, pinning them to the bed, immobilizing me against him. As his teeth gently scraped over me I gripped the sheets with both hands—head rolling back, eyes rolling back.

"God," I groaned, "fuck me already."

Jon's eyes darted up, and although I couldn't see his mouth working I knew he was smirking at me.

"You don't have to call me god, you know, although I do like it."

I tried to sigh at his lame joke but was cut off by two of his fingers sliding inside of me, a strangled moan coming out instead.

As he rose back up so that we were face to face again, holding himself over me, I took the initiative for myself and palmed at his erection through his underwear.

I looked up at his face and his eyes were closed as I squeezed him. Oh honey, you should know by now never to let your guard down around me. I used my legs to wrap around his waist and flipped him onto his back, finally freeing him from those pesky drawers.

"I probably should have predicted that," he said, voice low and gravelly. I merely smiled at him before taking him by the base and running my lips over his sensitive head. Now he was bucking into me as I let him slide into my mouth, grabbing at my hair, trying to gather it away from my face.

"Oh, fuck," were a few choice words I heard come out of his mouth as I swirled his tip with my tongue one last time before kneeling over him.

He sat up immediately, ravaging my neck and breasts as I slowly sank down onto him, mouths opened wide as we finally connected. Slotted together.

I moved on his lap, grinding down hard, wanting him further inside me, if it was at all possible. It didn't seem like it.

I felt him move up from the bed, lifting me with him as I wrapped my legs around his waist. He was up on his knees, upper body upright against mine and then we were moving as equals, both of us in time, crashing, _thrashing _together in the middle, face to face, climbing to an unbearable peak.

* * *

I was exhausted but blissfully calm, and I could feel myself starting to drift off—

Sleep. I was looking forward to that. Jon was laying beside me, both of us turned inwards, eyes sleepily opening and closing on each other.

"Just curious," Jon said softly. "Why did you... choose me, I guess, in the end?"

"I didn't," I shrugged and he gave a weird look. "A wise old owl told me that things like this are never really a choice."

Jon smiled. "You talked to Punk didn't you?"

I laughed. "Yeah, I did actually."

"Did he tell you I'd been in a foul mood ever since you left?"

"He did, too... Why was that?"

"Do we have to talk about our feelings tonight?" Jon said, screwing his face up.

"Well, you brought it up, but no, not if you don't want to."

Jon sighed with relief and pulled me into him. "See that's why I love you."

What? Oh, boy. He had tried to say it offhandedly but there was a searching look in his eyes as he waited for me to say something back.

It came out almost automatically, because it was the truth, and it had been staring me in the face for the whole time like it was staring me in the face now, though I never expected it to be so damn easy to say.

"I love you, too."


	37. Author's Note and thank you

Hey guys

Thanks so much for reading! Sorry about the little misdirection there at the end of chapter 35 but I couldn't resist xP

As for new stories in the works, I don't really have anything right now, but I would like to keep writing if there are people willing to read so I am thinking about setting up some sort of requests thing where you can tell me what to write! Would love some feedback on that idea, what would be the best way to send requests, whether you want the ability to send anon requests etc etc - please leave a review on this chapter if you have something to contribute, I'm literally all ears :)


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